"nitrile" poems - Hello Poetry

hair tied with a nitrile glove cuff carved a sacred space adorned with muffled tile porcelain throne pod amongst the ruckus hohumdrum gods stampeding towards a visionary empty meeting with screens greeted with massed bodies, butter, and dust the divine light behind the porthole still shines even as crowds continually shuffle forwards backwards and past, that bouquet of projection rays remains sheening with eye to light machè heaven until thunderous overstrokes over indulge and begin to over and undertone every feather upon ears resignation of a certain kingship upon standing and yet wealth of ethic remains demanding so, stand.

0

Jul 1, 2022

Jul 1, 2022 at 5:17 AM UTC

david-mitchell

latriner

hair tied with a nitrile glove cuff carved a sacred space adorned with muffled tile porcelain throne pod amongst the ruckus hohumdrum gods stampeding towards a visionary empty meeting with screens greeted with massed bodies, butter, and dust the divine light behind the porthole still shines even as crowds continually shuffle forwards backwards and past, that bouquet of projection rays remains sheening with eye to light machè heaven until thunderous overstrokes over indulge and begin to over and undertone every feather upon ears resignation of a certain kingship upon standing and yet wealth of ethic remains demanding so, stand.

16

ingredients were chopped cleanly, neatly with care cutting tools were pre-sterilized and pre-packaged then wiped clean after use he arrived in blue scrubs and donned blue nitrile gloves for mutual protection it had been a while for her her nails were long she sat in an easy chair with her feet up on an ottoman a towel was spread before he began to make clean up easier the scent of an alcohol wipe wafted as he worked little did he know we would finish what he started after he left we gathered up the clippings thick and fungal we put them in a *** to boil with sautéed celery, onions and seasonings salt and pepper to taste hmmmmm...delicious, home made toe nail soup!

0

Dec 7, 2011

Dec 7, 2011 at 1:42 PM UTC

del-maximo

Soup's On!

ingredients were chopped cleanly, neatly with care cutting tools were pre-sterilized and pre-packaged then wiped clean after use he arrived in blue scrubs and donned blue nitrile gloves for mutual protection it had been a while for her her nails were long she sat in an easy chair with her feet up on an ottoman a towel was spread before he began to make clean up easier the scent of an alcohol wipe wafted as he worked little did he know we would finish what he started after he left we gathered up the clippings thick and fungal we put them in a *** to boil with sautéed celery, onions and seasonings salt and pepper to taste hmmmmm...delicious, home made toe nail soup!

26

Self-Examination Check your vitals Snap the Nitrile Up to the elbow we're gonna stretch and pull the protector down. Play an Avant-garde film no sound, but I noticed you spoke it credits were rolling' down your cheek nothing certain but death and taxes left handed laughing' laxatives In the coffee of mothers Who pump out politicians. This year You scavenged for Christmas a life worth living by killing intuition stash it in an Easter basket in silicone lashes push the ashes together then burn the mattress That's the sand. through fingers, you make a fist 3rd grade principal pulled you from detention In a stretcher white royal flush in the trenches You fought to be human all you needed was a breath of attention who said you could end it win it, prescription of tribulations from whatever God you'd scavenge for Christmas he put you through it all the abuses habits black and white canvas silent obscuring angles You're more than mannequin who prayed for this madness who pays for the therapist If you even have it who kept you out of church And into church basements writes the book of curses force fed sedative Says he went to college. His Suit is stained in coffee Yet you're the burden with the vices? The film is over the light flickers darkness we sit in the coffin smoking' and screaming' blood is flowing, but there's no fire we're just speaking' what happens after 3AM witching hour that one scene when the camera angle was blurry. it spoke to me said self examination can't be latex you gotta s nitrile they're cut resistant cover five fingers not just one appendage. Blue hands protect you more than a stranger so button your blanket take down the black curtains sun was always shining, closed it to blurry our focus could take our Macguyver theater wallpaper canvas stretching hit us in the temple like a parshah finished another session the blessing of human language the messenger malakh, without expectation we fumble to understand Scalpel in hand, ventricle in tact we're just holding' a feather pen stick our hands in the past take a look in the mirror And write it all down. https://soundcloud.com/nicholas-coulombe/self-examination

0

Sep 21, 2018

Sep 21, 2018 at 3:33 AM UTC

GeekElement

Self-Examination

Self-Examination Check your vitals Snap the Nitrile Up to the elbow we're gonna stretch and pull the protector down. Play an Avant-garde film no sound, but I noticed you spoke it credits were rolling' down your cheek nothing certain but death and taxes left handed laughing' laxatives In the coffee of mothers Who pump out politicians. This year You scavenged for Christmas a life worth living by killing intuition stash it in an Easter basket in silicone lashes push the ashes together then burn the mattress That's the sand. through fingers, you make a fist 3rd grade principal pulled you from detention In a stretcher white royal flush in the trenches You fought to be human all you needed was a breath of attention who said you could end it win it, prescription of tribulations from whatever God you'd scavenge for Christmas he put you through it all the abuses habits black and white canvas silent obscuring angles You're more than mannequin who prayed for this madness who pays for the therapist If you even have it who kept you out of church And into church basements writes the book of curses force fed sedative Says he went to college. His Suit is stained in coffee Yet you're the burden with the vices? The film is over the light flickers darkness we sit in the coffin smoking' and screaming' blood is flowing, but there's no fire we're just speaking' what happens after 3AM witching hour that one scene when the camera angle was blurry. it spoke to me said self examination can't be latex you gotta s nitrile they're cut resistant cover five fingers not just one appendage. Blue hands protect you more than a stranger so button your blanket take down the black curtains sun was always shining, closed it to blurry our focus could take our Macguyver theater wallpaper canvas stretching hit us in the temple like a parshah finished another session the blessing of human language the messenger malakh, without expectation we fumble to understand Scalpel in hand, ventricle in tact we're just holding' a feather pen stick our hands in the past take a look in the mirror And write it all down. https://soundcloud.com/nicholas-coulombe/self-examination

94

I belong to the Church of Goethe, where on the sabbath we remove our nitrile gloves and ****** up our means and trends and hypothesis to rinse them with metaphor. coming always hungry, we feast on leavened conclusions and look to the sky through many a lens-- having traded brushes for pens, pens for brushes to paint and compute a new sort of hymn and not in unison, but in harmony sing: this is religion.

0

Sep 11, 2014

Sep 11, 2014 at 9:12 PM UTC

abigail-ella

On Possessing Both

I belong to the Church of Goethe, where on the sabbath we remove our nitrile gloves and ****** up our means and trends and hypothesis to rinse them with metaphor. coming always hungry, we feast on leavened conclusions and look to the sky through many a lens-- having traded brushes for pens, pens for brushes to paint and compute a new sort of hymn and not in unison, but in harmony sing: this is religion.

11

Beet crumbles clinging to the hand in mine brush off familiarly between our fingers. A sight for sore eyes evokes memories of a time where calloused hands created palettes, wroughting elements together over the canvas of faultless white platters. The pang through my soul twinges inward at the pruneyness of my nitrile stifled hands, echoing stymed passion. I envy how you still get to curate palates wholesomely from the roots. My watch chimes over reminiscent conversation admonishing us of our obligations. I like to think that in another stage of another life our passions will cross again. Just as I hope it will in this one.

0

Jul 13, 2018

Jul 13, 2018 at 12:16 AM UTC

Lucid_one

Cider

Beet crumbles clinging to the hand in mine brush off familiarly between our fingers. A sight for sore eyes evokes memories of a time where calloused hands created palettes, wroughting elements together over the canvas of faultless white platters. The pang through my soul twinges inward at the pruneyness of my nitrile stifled hands, echoing stymed passion. I envy how you still get to curate palates wholesomely from the roots. My watch chimes over reminiscent conversation admonishing us of our obligations. I like to think that in another stage of another life our passions will cross again. Just as I hope it will in this one.

4