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Circa 1994 May 2014
Her lack of self-restraint was a conscious decision to be self-destructive.
She sought a reaction that would produce the attention she fed on like a greedy infant noshing on dimpled knuckles with a mouthful of swollen gums.

She preferred cassette tapes to records “just because.”
She liked long, drawn out silences.
She enjoyed the way crumbs gathered at both corners of her mouth as she devoured a box of strawberry Poptarts.

At any given moment it was quite likely that her tongue was rattling behind her teeth, that she wasn’t wearing a bra, that she was falling in love with a fictional book character; perhaps even doing all three simultaneously.
Under the rug
where it's darker than light
rumbles & tumbles
a beast born of the night.
What is it you ask?
Well, to know that
one must be brave
and one must also crave
to place a face to all fears looming.
So, go on, lift up the mat's edge...
Sneak a peek at
darkness booming.

Close the cupboard doors
for from far in the back
lurches & lumbers forth
the most frightful roars.
Your ears can follow your fear
to the space just farther than
the longest arm's reach,
past the jar of pickles,
and through the forest of forgotten spices,
even beyond the lost boxes
of instant mashed potatoes
which don't grow old for eternity.

It is this lightless den
that's home to scores of tiny T-rex
looking creatures called
Boomasaurs.
They spend their time
noshing & munching
gobbling & gurgling
snacks of all kinds;
including grazing fingers.
You don't need to know too much more about them,
of this I'm sure,
just go close the cupboard door.

Do you trust your boomerang?

There's nothing under your bed,
as sure as there aren't bats in my head,
and I write this in a room
where laces can't be in shoes,
so, you better check under your bed.

For beneath your pillowy paradise
on which you wish to float in a dream of candies 'n cream
shuffles a shadowy blob; dark, as though made of demons' truffles.
And being a black mass of a mess
it moves beneath your boxspring
in a roll-flop manner.
The sound of which when heard lulls the tired & weak,
meek, children & adults alike
into a nightmare's pleasures.
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   shha-boom
shha-boom   *shha-boom
Fortune Cookie Maxim Minimizes
(alternately titled “markedly welcome matt and luke warm john.”)  

i agonizingly dutifully didst wait
to distract anticipatory anxiety,
(analogous to an expectant father)
while protracted procedure promised
nothing short of a millennium,

whereby echoing thru the corridors of time
olly olly gluten free ranging NON GMO, oxen
oiled lubricated cloven hoof
nsync cup aided toot tune to clacking choppers
activated after this chap dialed up favorite eats
using latest vaunted communications device

(forced to shout over din o'er
loud grumbling within bowel
of abdominal anatomical beast)
commenced manifold upon ordering repast
magically appeared, low
and behold an appetizer tete a tete

via tony Apple iPhone X ‑ 256 GB ‑ 
Silver Verizon amazing piece de resistance, 
sans technological fetes
with CDMA/GSM ring tones,
where a pleasant fecund female bot tilled voice didst greet

prepping, priming, promoting
Crowded house special of the Green day
dis "FAKE" kin lister eagerly
awaited: salivating, simulating ****** soothing
sans savory souffle
the first culinary ******* savory dish,

after aye parked, positioned, and plunked gluteus
near swinging doors leading into kitchen,
where this word maven strategically
dip posited said maximus to attempt
futile gastronomic endeavor
tum maximize tempering torturous tenacious
devastatingly deadly assault steaming enemy

disarmed disguised, and dismantled,
resplendent redolent redoubt
digitally remastering nondiscerning indistinct aromas
to supper esse overwhelming paroxysms to gorge
putting a ritzy lid on heated fiery dogged
craving powder milk dog biscuits

(an impossible mission), where oozing,
licking, insinuating filaments
commingled as cutthroat nemesis cooly whipped
devastatingly weeknd x2c;
wickedly wafting, seducing, satiating, and salivating

courtesy olfactory foramen, deflecting incessant onslaughts
induced famished fellow to reevaluate, relinquish,
and revisit his Weltanschauung soup per bowl, 
while simultaneously commandeering cutlery
to attack, besiege, conquer

condemning delegate of China ware without tea zing,
thence indiscriminately marshaling choppers
to set up base camp at Oral-B
(heeding flying pie warnings, where shewing
should desserts foe ment Hunger)

eggs sauce er baited onslaught of herbaceous,
fabulous delicious culinary cuisine aromatic eats
thoroughly teasing growling stomach
steeping interminable suspenseful,
seven star Michelin magicians

empowered to transform most anything (such
as bilge water, road **** or septic tank)
gourmet experienced huckster longingly *****
doubled as famished Norwegian Bachelor farmer,

equating odoriferous garbage truck
on par suckling swollen teats
patience caved to restrain noshing
impaling his strict credo on dustbin of his story
never again *** chew gnawing
even knuckles sandwich of fingers or toes

squishy human digits texture of imported dates
which hunger pangs lesson,
do justice doth minimally satiate afterwards,
a restauranteur hoof hall hues highbrow opinion,
hence a short survey about ambience, yours truly will rate

perhaps unwise of an every Jimmy John Joe gourmand
tubby biased after an apple ala carte blanch
preceded with delicious hors d'oeuvre high marks
more nerve wracking than going on a blind date.
And of course with enticing forkful of flagrant food
Beep ping Update complete disrupted first mouthful.
susan Nov 2014
all the preparing
for the big show
the making things perfect
the displaying of stuff just so
there's the
mixing
blending
shaking
seasoning
pouring
cooking
boiling
bakin­g
frosting
whipping
cutting
trimming
spooning

followed by the
devouring
wolfing
scarfing
cramming
munching
chomping
noshing
g­uzzling
slurping
swallowing

and ending with
burping
hiccuping
passing gas

and passing out

happy thanksgiving
Ramona Argo Apr 2015
Daylight needles up to my window,
smiling bright, jaunty, and annoying.
I tell it I am not
participating today.
I'm just doing showers and sleep.

Avoiding human life and signs of mirrors.
Noshing away cold french fries, sipping last night's wine
in my boy-shorts, favorite Spider-Man tee
and signature vampire demeanor.

With achy bowels and a mind like a gallon jug –
The people-sounds outside are heavy
and I, irrationally,
feel judged by every living thing.

Still, I will not leave my bed
like a loyal pet of a grandmother.
There will be other days to
adventure on,all young and fresh, I'm sure
maybe tomorrow I'll break the slump.
but for now my blistering eyes won't stay open;
My whole mouth tastes like a dump
and this back of mine feels like torn paper.

Muscles sink to dust, and lay quiet as a lamp.
Hours slip by. Only Netflix talks to me.
My body dims down like the laptop across my chest.
Yet my thoughts
surge me on
        and away like ******.

And in my mind, I feel shiny, worth-while
and suddenly beloved
and famous.
Mortal Mind Matthew Scott Harris
ENTER YOUR OWN RISK!

Seedy gobbledygook ergot
visibly argot bubbled, burbled, bustled...forth
yea...give garbled, jangled, warbled shoutout
if ye doth render
mug gadabout totally confounding,

this unfettered voluminous confection
ruff lee in toto as sample
doggone freelance gargon
sublime red rover - misaligned with
twenty first century time

emerging, fishtailing, kvetching,
slithering, whipsawing
during springtime
thaw - oozing out primordial slime,
schlepping aboard bissel mishuga train

while kibitizing with longfellow
ghost hosts Bartleby,
thee Herman Hermits,
and Stray Cats caterwauling
scrivener circumlocution showtime
evidences troubadour prima facie

tremendous struggle rustling rational rapport,
ruminating, citing his dismal schooltime
track record muddled, and hence
questing to cobble a rhyme
distilling, harvesting, and

leaching (out pulpy, knotty,
Max Headroom Ancien regime
filmy... gray matter) in realtime,
while strains of Ragtime echo
from late nineteenth century

tin pan alley, nsync, linkedin
cubist, dadaist, existentialist...
mine poetic melange jerry rigs
flashes random discordant phrases
kickstarting hotmail...faintly

analogous to processing quicklime
mucking with abstract alphabetic
mire ranks as playtime
forging whimsical tactical trippy thoughts,
nursing eternal idealistic Earthly peacetime,

worrying away looming mortality,
noshing post death as pastime,
welcomes input and alien abduction – ME,
mine "FAKE" existence, sans charade,
facade, masquerade onetime pantomime,
no second act allowed, nor

revising questionable tour de force
I claim NO pièce de résistance, nor overtime,
asper waning game
of thrown away Life
approaches nighttime haven

soon...forever rest in peace
surrendering requisite burnt offerings,
sans (cremated ashes) - meantime
fete grateful dead
scythe lent hoodlums on warpath

to incite bedlam
postprandial mealtime prayer final -
deathly hallowed gleeful grimace
witnessing successful electroshock therapy

of yours truly emotionally frozen
decades long comatose state
thankfully oblivious, when impending
curtain call signals finis!
Anais Vionet Nov 13
(a university-life vignette)

It’s a Friday night, Leong and I are at a small restaurant close to the dorm called “Ordinary.” We’re in a cozy, pleasantly dark, little red booth—waiting for Lisa—who’s running late. This is Leong’s favorite bar and her taste in exotic drinks is labile—tonight she has us drinking ‘Maker’s Mark,’ a delicious, straight-up bourbon, with a twist of orange peel.

We’re on our second—and I’m starting to buzz—did I mention Lisa’s running late? On a hot note, we’re celebrating. I turned in the first draft of my thesis prospectus last Wednesday and this morning I got it back - accepted.

But more importantly, when I tore into the envelope, back in my room, there was a yellow sticky-note on the prospectus that read like an academic valentine. It said:
“Anais, you write beautifully, with the economy of a poet.”
I may have danced around my room.

So, we’re sitting there, sipping our drinks and noshing on a charcuterie platter when this cute, hipster, Princeton transfer-student guy named Milo showed up—drink in hand. He’s like, 5 '11 with light-brown medium-longish hair tucked behind his ears and he’s wearing a light blue, textured cardigan over a tan t-shirt and leaf-green work pants. At first, he’s walking by, but he spots us and stops.

“Has anyone ever told you look like Anais Vionet?” He asked me.
“No,” I replied, “never.” “You sound like her too,” he followed up.
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I answered, shaking my head ‘no’ and shrugging.
“But she’d never come to a dive this cheap,” he updogged.
“Oh, yes she would,” I assured him.

Then, I gasped, remembering. Milos on one of Yale’s 500 soccer teams. “You guys lost to Princeton the other day! Isn’t that your alma mater? Congratulations!”
“Thanks, for bringing that up,” he said somewhat chagrined,
“We lost one-to-nil—it was just bad luck,” he said defensively.
“Oh, bad luck,” I chided him.

He did look tired and defeated, so I motioned him to take a seat. He slid right in next to Leong, who’s hand he shook, “Milo,” he said.
“I KNOW,” she said, in a sly and evil way—we’ve talked about him, conspiratorially—even she thinks he’s cute—and cross-culturally-cute isn’t easy.

“Are you superstitious?” Milo asked us—turning so Leong was included.
“Oh, sure,” I spoke first, “I was raised catholic, and even if you don’t hundo-p believe, it carries over. I always carry a lucky crystal with me—you know, for tests and what-not—I depend on that, as opposed to diligence and studying.”

“You have one with you now?” He followed up.
“I do,” I confessed, “I always have one in my bra.”
“Wow,” he laughed, “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I chuckled, “For luck—in case I need to appear supper fun and sassy? Though I guess I’m proof crystals don’t work.”
“Do you really have a crystal in your bra?” He asked, sipping his whisky.
“Yeah,” I said, sliding my hand discreetly into my left cup and bringing out a tiny, flat green, polished Jade stone crystal. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?” He asked.
“Nah, there’s plenty of room in there,” I admitted, sliding the crystal back in place.

“Leong’s superstitious,” I said, nodding to her.
“All Chinese are superstitious,” Leong pronounced, “whenever I had a big exam at school, my mother would go and leave a chicken at the temple.”
Milo and I chortled—I’d actually seen women do that when I lived in Shenzhen.
“Well, I guess it worked!” Milo pronounced, and he and Leong high-fived.
“We have a saying, ‘it’s better to be lucky than good,” he added.
We say, “Yùnqì zhòngyàoguò nénglì,” Leong noted, in Cantonese.
“Luck is more important than ability,” I translated.
Speaking of luck, Lisa finally arrived.
.
.
Songs for this:
Where Are You by 54 Ultra
Cut Glass by mark william lewis
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/12/24:
Labile = open to change.

My thesis topic is "Molecular dynamics simulations of protein folding (or protein-protein interactions)." It isn't easy to give it a poetic twist.

Our cast:
Leong, (roommate) 21, is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia and she’s a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). She's a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major.’ I speak Cantonese—which may be why we were paired—I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) - we talk a lot of secret trash together.

Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff. Grew up in a posh, 50th floor residence on Central Park South in Manhattan. She shares my major (Molecular biophysics and biochemistry) and is easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in RL (and is sensitive about it). Our tastes match, in everything (fashion, media, music, humor) except men.
courtesy third person singular.

Mise en scène pour décès
pardon his feeble attempt at French,
a unilingual English language
quibbling, and scribbling mensch
strongly advises applying
left handed monkey wrench,
which custom designed tool
assigned impossible mission
to discern sense and sensibility
regarding following poetic thread
subject of a fool's errand.

Mein kampf witnessed, punctuated,
and evinced courtesy final breath
automatically triggering (tumblr
to activate) final curtain call
and unremarkable death.

As stipulated in the living will
cremation of his lifeless body
cremated into soft gray powder.

A prerecorded hashtagged obituary
downloaded to individual smartphones
and simultaneously appeared on
the following poetry websites:
COSMOFUNNEL, Hello Poetry,
Neopoet, My Poetic Side, Poetry Soup,
PoetryNook, PoetryVibe, Prose|
A community of readers and writers,
and All Poetry.

He hesitated and lost out
on game of life big time
even fumbling crafting reasonable rhyme
noshing, spending, and whiling
inordinate amount of hours
squirreled away in his bedroom
surrounding himself with reading material.

He amassed fountainhead of knowledge
quietly engorging cerebral gray matter
whereat noggin swelled up
rivaling globe, but Atlas shrugged
at him, whose head
resembled the first Chinese brother
who swallowed the sea.

Odd his voracious appetite
to buzzfeed with one
after another binary byte
zealous precocity to engross himself
with storied reading material
that does extremely excite
(at the expense of healthy socialization)
where his imagination took flight,
nevertheless myopic eyes of his

did glean insight
keeping his button nose
between pages of choice morsels
to appease hunger
keeping himself awake
drinking high test coffee
during darkness aided by jacklight
processing meaty material with might
experiencing abundant, exultant,

intoxicant, over-extravagant
joie de vivre day or night,
a balm, elixir, inebriate... quite
the panacea to abet emotional incapacitation
which entails crafting poems
oftimes spending efforts
with efforts undertaking rewrite
unwittingly garnering a fanbase
courtesy ideology doth unite.
Onoma Apr 25
an inexhaustibly long queue of

devils, decked out with their spin on

evil.

mugging their motherless faces--

all holding a  bouquet of black velvet

flowers.

some noshing on them, some thwapping

the devil in front of them over the head.

filing one by one into a small yinmn blue

room.

to take headshots for sacred auditions.
I believed fortune cookie maxim
cryptic message couched
Apple Macbook Pro update process
alternately titled “markedly
a Luke warm welcome Matt unfurled
courtesy Jimmy John,
who embarked on
imp apostle bull mission
going to find Mark Twain.”  

After wracking my brain
deducing I declare what
constituted impossible mission
to delineate purpose of these words,
after initialled written
about six and a half years ago
my best hunch (backed up
while holed up in Notre Dame),
I agonizingly dutifully didst attempt
to distract anticipatory anxiety,

(analogous to an expectant father)
while delicate protracted procedure
ticked away the minutes,
where learned hands
gingerly tweezered various and sundry
state of the art electronic
components while trained fingers
instinctively, expertly, and admiringly
wrought awesome results
bitta bing bitta bang under the hood

of cherished Apple product
courtesy wizards hunkered down
troubleshooting laptop to restore functioning
of sophisticated electronic machine  
to ideal factory settings
quality control capability promised
nothing short of a miracle,
whereby engrossed deep thinkers
echoed the sound of silence
thru the corridors of time

olly olly gluten
free ranging NON GMO, oxen
oiled lubricated cloven hoof
nsync cup aided toot tune
to clacking choppers
activated after this chap
dialed up favorite technical director
using his latest smarts
vaunted from years
of breathing, eating, and living

malfunctioning circuits
housed on motherboard
exemplifying divine computer devices
generated by brain child
videre licet avast array
of embedded electronic components
back in the day
Electronic Numerical Integrator
and Computer (ENIAC),
completed in 1946

necessitated taxing physical prowess
additionally forced human interventionists
to shout over din o'er
loud grumbling within bowel
of bulky binary beast of burden
along vaguely similar scenario
buzzfeeding abdominal anatomical beast
easily appeased when yours truly
a gluttonous gourmand,
tasking me to commence upon

ordering food glorious food,
which magically and mysteriously appeared,
after manifold fiery breath
spewed by amazing dragons
**** forming breath taking
heart stopping mind bending
sensational aural and visual feast
low and behold
wresting, teasing, releasing soundcloud
an appetizer to sense
and sensibility tete a tete

while inhabiting (neigh – riding)
caparisoned painted ponies
segueing faux horse sense
(animated, captured, framed
and linkedin within carousel of time)
courtesy tony Apple iPhone X - 256 GB
Silver Verizon amazing pièce de résistance,
sans technological fetes
with CDMA/GSM ringtones,
where a pleasant fecund female

bot tilled voice didst greet
prepping, priming, promoting
Crowded House serving
blue plate special of the Green day
dis "FAKE" kin listener eagerly
awaited: salivating, simulating
****** soothing sans savory souffle,
the first culinary ******* savory dish,
after aye parked,
positioned, and plunked gluteus

near swinging doors leading into kitchen,
where this word maven strategically
dip posited said maximus to attempt
futile gastronomic endeavor
tum maximize tempering torturous tenacious
devastatingly deadly assault steaming enemy
disarmed disguised, and dismantled,
resplendent redolent redoubt
digitally remastering and remixing
non discerning indistinct aromas

emanating from naked lunch to supper esse
overwhelming paroxysms to gorge
putting a ritzy lid on heated fiery dogged
craving powder milk dog biscuits
(an impossible mission), where oozing,
licking, insinuating filaments
commingled as cutthroat
nemesis cooly whipped
devastatingly weeknd ecstasy
wickedly wafting, seducing,

satiating, and salivating
courtesy olfactory foramen,
deflecting incessant onslaughts
induced famished fellow
to reevaluate, relinquish,
and revisit his Weltanschauung soup per bowl,
while simultaneously commandeering cutlery
to attack, besiege, conquer
condemning delegate
of China ware without tea zing,

thence indiscriminately marshaling choppers
to set up base camp at Oral-B
(heeding flying pie warnings, where shewing
should desserts foe ment Hunger)
eggs sauce er baited
onslaught of herbaceous,
fabulous, delicious, and bodacious
culinary cuisine aromatic eats
thoroughly teasing growling stomach
steeping interminable suspenseful,

seven star Michelin magicians
empowered to transform most anything
(such as bilge water,
road **** or septic tank)
gourmet experienced huckster longingly *****
doubled as famished
Norwegian Bachelor farmer,
equating odoriferous garbage truck
on par suckling swollen teats
patience caved to restrain noshing

impaling his strict credo
on dustbin of his story
never again *** chew gnawing
even knuckles sandwich of fingers or toes
squishy human digits
texture of imported dates,
which hunger artist experienced pangs
voilà nothing short
of Pan's Labyrinth lesson,
did justice minimally satiated afterwards,

a restauranteur hoof hall
hues highbrow opinion,
hence a short survey about ambience,
yours truly will rate
perhaps unwise of an every
Jimmy John Joe gourmand
tubby biased after an apple ala carte blanche
preceded with delicious
hors d'oeuvre high marks
more nerve wracking
than going on a blind date.

And of course with enticing
forkful of flagrant food
Beep ping Update
completely disrupted first mouthful.

— The End —