"salivation" poems
The parasympathetic nervous system
is responsible for regulations
unconsciously transpiring
within the organs and
the glands of
the body.
Such as:
urination, salivation, digestion, defecation, and
lacrimation
(noun. ‘the flow of tears’. Latin.
from lacrimare (‘weep’) and lacrima (‘tear’).
It’s why I cry
even when I don’t want to.
You are the parasympathetic nervous system.
The (ortho-)sympathetic nervous system
is responsible for the mobilization
of the fight-or-flight response
and constantly maintaining
homeostasis within
the body.
It acts
rapidly, enacting an attempt at stability and
the necessary and critical ability
to suddenly escape
on pulsing legs or
cling to survival through
brandishing adrenaline-doused knuckles
and dilated pupils.
It’s why you live
even when you don’t want to.
I am the sympathetic nervous system.
The parasympathetic and sympathetic nervous systems
are two of three essential nervous systems which
compose the autonomic nervous system
(a part of the peripheral
nervous system)
that manages
involuntary
functions of the body. Such as:
swallowing, perspiration, arousal, breathing, and
heart rate
(noun. ‘the speed of the heartbeat’.
usually expressed in beats per minute. mine speeds up when I see you).
Individually these two systems oppose
but compliment
each other like our hands do—
pressed together and omitting equal force;
veins meeting
at the fingertips and throbbing at the wrists
but running amuck on our respective digits otherwise.
You are the invariable and unspoken reminder to
breath,
love,
sweat,
and live.
I am the sudden snap of reality always aiming to save you
but grudgingly willing to fight you and
ready
to
leave.
From the deepest lower half of my brainstem
and from every nerve
in my cycling body,
I’m sorry.
From all of my chromaffin cells
and from the truest parts of submandibular ganglian,
I am sorry.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
Please forgive my hesitation
at instigation of flirtation.
Did I ensure my elimination?
My romantic assassination?
I'll gladly partake in any placation,
for any chance of indoctrination
to the centralization of your concentration.
An operation of admiration.
A correlation of inflammation.
Your gravitation brings animation,
exclamation and elongation.
My specialization is duration.
Not to hint at a connotation,
but I feel a certain **********
by an obligation to a certain destination
where your presentation gives me restoration.
Petrification?
Total mind evacuation?
Would clarification bring fascination?
Stimulation!
Salivation!
Gratification!
Insinuation of fornication?
A simple salutation to syncopation.
Would a single bright carnation
be enough of a motivation,
for a two way relocation?
Would poetic recitation
be sufficient lubrication
for collaboration?
A consolidation?
Or an exacerbation of isolation?
Please hold no reservation,
I've only got one aspiration.
To achieve a higher elevation;
by means of inhalation,
or a certain recreation
involving a bit of perspiration
along with physical communication.
Does this seem such a bad situation?
Or are you ready for pure elation?
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 12:56 PM UTC
Perfect rows of white teeth,
bite in to a raw mango-
your intent is evident
amber eyes signal the message.
As if by transference,
sour mango taste, I get on my tongue,
induces salivation.
I feel, your cruel teeth
bite below my taut male *******
Oct 21, 2011
Oct 21, 2011 at 7:21 AM UTC
drown in the dark
cleansed of all vital signs ; great relief
cold fish dreamed a thrill
drowning in the great salivation
a deoxygenated chill of perish
vote free the sponge of your formation
give to the new life that can fend
fed off of your spoil
a greater survivor in this stern habitat
can carry on your energy and wealth
Apr 5, 2022
Apr 5, 2022 at 1:31 PM UTC
.*who said i was orientating myself around the body? the body to body dynamic is so.... easy... excessive salivation... like a dog... i don't want the body... i wan the existence of the non-existent parody of ego, in the form of soul... i want, what secularism abhors to lay claim of... i've been to a ********** i know what selling flesh looks like... but i've also walked into a forest... and i have, managed to peer into a night... where i also managed to forget being equipped with a shadow... no... that wasn't it... true structures emerge when you've been abused... and the counter structures? the abuse... slows down... in the most realistic ordeal of anticipating near, but. never realized completion... what, a, leisure! the forest, the moon, the shadow, the crown... all that's missing is a poetic vagabond's (of an) incision into a soul... the tired yawn of a lion ingrained in a delusional concern for the depth of man... oh the leisured man... and his vantage points... prompts of a view with a missing lot, curiosity... cradle of the curiosity... cradle.. how else, if not coupled with...
a curiosity coupled to a, grave.*
deity, of fixed,
stature;
within the confines
of the prefix
omni-
what am i,
what am i, not
to think,
to encompass,
"the", all?
maybe some
clown-male-up
would-help?!
now i better hope,
that it does....
were we not oh so inquisitive,
concerning
the origins of said,
story?
sure...
sure...
such a feeble god...
bu what a more than
overtly feeble
invocation
of a real god!
what feeble reasons!
for whatever
is testified
as a, "feeble" god
to be conjured!
**** you!
and whatever comes with your
grievance of sharing heritage!
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC
A ghost in this home,
I home to his ghost.
He trembles within my hands.
His scent is trapped in my oils,
diffused amongst the cells.
Foreign salivation
dilated transgressions
viral possessions.
Feb 26, 2012
Feb 26, 2012 at 8:39 PM UTC
As I walk up those chipped, wooden steps,
The smell of authenticity fills my nostrils.
Salivation onsets, like a tidal wave.
My stomach groans, as if possessed.
I enter their Kingdom, nestled humbly atop Apartment A.
The Queen, front and center of stove,
As her loyal princesses scurry like mice
Trying to help fellow colony members.
But true tradition doesn't need help;
What's necessary is the amount of time required
To perform such tasty feats of grandeur.
So, like every meal before,
Grandma has squeezed dry the fruit of tradition.
My dish, staring me down as I await
My fellow colony members to be seated.
As if it were both my first and last meal in the world,
I quickly begin to fill the caverns of my stomach.
With an abundance of tortillas and menudo,
There's no time in between bites to acknowledge
The cousins sitting at both of my shoulders.
Our roots run deep; still waters have nothing.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC
1
This is the song of you leaving
It is the lead finally soaking into my brain
Dumbing me down
This is the de-evolution
To perfection
Turning me into the animal
I knew I always was
Taking us back to the state where
True communication is the sound of something primal
You don’t have to be human
To understand the sound of desperation
It echoes off of lead paint walls
When we are left alone
It is the sound of my heart
Used as a door jamb
A last ditch effort to stop you from leaving
2
This is the song of quaking
The rhythm of helicopter blades over head
Rattling my windows
It is the sound of a faulty foundation
Reminding me all things are breaking down
3
Break me down to beastly
Howl my heart to heaven
You never misunderstood the rumble of my hunger
After the deep breathed sighs of my lust
The salivation of sizzling fat on a skillet
4
I always know where to hide
When the crack of bullets go off again
It is the air raid sirens of ghettos
It is the goose-stepping thunder
Of misled solidarity
5
I always know to walk the other way
When I hear someone crying
To hide my head under a pillow
When I hear weeping coming from another room
6
These pleads for help are wordless
But tug at my heartstrings
As painfully as any music
Only now the speakers are speechless
And the sound is without pattern
And the dancers are still
Fear is the sound of the quiet
Listening for a reason to move
Waiting for nature’s echoing bass drum
Telling you to run
7
Scatter you new found animals to safety
And lose your need for love
This is the sound of my saddened clatter
Keyboard key’s snare drum
It is the sound of a final poetic solo
Because as for being human
I am done
8
This is the song of me leaving
Wordy as it may be
Living a lifetime
Thinking this body is the pinnacle
This body is the tip of the bell curve
Before the hourly gong of descent
This is the song of becoming perfection
The song of de-evolution
It is me
Finally becoming an animal
Again
Dec 9, 2011
Dec 9, 2011 at 3:50 PM UTC
Bare feet chuckle in the snow
crunching around on foliage,
warmed by fire in the chest
but not close enough to deny
the primal image of this hunt.
Silence in the falling,
the action creates sound
and sends prey afoot,
bounding for shelter
beneath the sapped pines.
Dancing alone through gap camouflage
in rhythm with wind that sighs,
watching on in anticipation
for completion of lives
so horribly intertwined.
Summer would hate these winter woods,
freezing in the bones that creak
and whine as if stray dog
gnawed at them tenderly,
savoring every grind and salivation.
So chilled and trembling,
frost on the eyebrows and hooves.
Breath in clouds, solid snot on lip,
aching for sunlight to show
deepening footprints in the snow.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 9:44 PM UTC
When proud ones boast
Of all that is loftiest
In his faith,
In her flag,
In the hue of their skin
The Devil licks his chops
In lustful salivation.
When caring souls
Reach out to offer
A bowl of rice,
A healing dose,
An understanding ear,
An open heart
Satan clutches his dry throat
Gasping for air.
August, 2006
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 5:41 PM UTC
Mexico is a great gift. But there. Good services (male / female / people). The founder of the Boston Market has 300 boxes. Many adults make mistakes. In the Philippines (4), prostitutes, many doctors are wrong. In Brazil, France and Brazil it is difficult to reduce the 600-100-1. Brazil 300 300 pure white, new regions of Russia, Morocco, Wilson, Brooklyn, Harlem, George Washington and at least four. 40.82 300 + 8: Mobile, Google solves the problem with Greece, Macedonia, South Africa, South Africa and Sweden. Mexico is the name "William". Mexico, color, 300 years without other black ornaments for horses or card assistants. Russia, Russia, Russia and Russia. "For 600 years Brazil has 600,000 dollars, 600, many teachers and many other things and bloggers," Sugar, Sugar ": Events: 8: 8 however, Ricky 40.82 South Africa with Joseph because he does what is right for China Africa click on Google Toolbar was and will not ruin Julius Caesar's school, it is above all the foundations of Alkcal's alkaline, the way of life of the child. (4) in three years, 82 Peter Kirkland, George Washington in the White House, Nazarene introduced by Tom, has two dogs, Brazil, Brazil, 600 and 600-600 600-600 games, so thank you for your government that 1000 F-Oh-rty-two children 8 + 8 and 8 women 8, 40, 82, South Africa , Northwest Africa, the continent of Africa Good service (male / female / people) Lotus Boston Trading is the latest version of the 300 Sleeves 600-100-1 Brazil 300 300 pure white regions of Russia, Morocco, Wilson, Brooklyn, George Washington and at least four others. 40.82 300 + 8: Mobile, Google solves the problem with Greece, Macedonia, South Africa, Ica Ica, and Sweden. Mexico is the name "William". Mexico's color for 300 years; There are no more black horses or carts. Russia, Russia, Russia and Russia. "There are 600,000 doctors in Brazil, Brazil, Brazil 600, who do not crash it". Stories, Teens 8 8: South Africa: 40.82 Ricky, African Football, Mother, China and Africa, click on Google Toolbar Jumper Alkashams to protect the house or destroy it. Georgia responds with jelly beans and head piercing each girl's skin to study the words of a group as well as the salivation of young men and women. (82) 82 82 (4) in three years, 82 Peter Kirkland and George Washington back in the White House introduced by Nazareth. Tom has two dogs. Today is a good team. The flight chooses this option in California. Good public security services, public offices and other names. 1.1. Brazil, Brazil, 600 and 600 to 600 600-600 games. Thank you for your head? And everything in the world is great. women. there are many problems at home. The sons of forty victims will come. 8 + 8 and 8 women, 8, 40, 82, South Africa, North-West Africa and the African continent. In fact, click on Google. Mexico is a great gift. But there. Good services (male / female / people). Traffic in Boston. Lotus is the latest sleeve version of 300. In many adult mistakes. In the Philippines (4), they commit many doctors who are wrong. In Brazil, France and Brazil it is difficult to reduce the 600-100-1. Brazil 300 300 pure white, new regions of Russia, Morocco, Wilson, Brooklyn, Harlem, George Washington and at least four. 40.82 300 + 8: Mobile, Google solves the problem with Greece, Macedonia, South Africa, South Africa and Sweden. Mexico, whose name is "William". Mexico, color, black kits 300 years, and other helmets of horse trolleys. Russia, Russia, Russia and Russia. "There are 600,000 doctors in Brazil, Brazil, Brazil 600, who do not crash it". Events: 8: 8 However, Ricky 40.82 South Africa is good for the Tully Halls in China and Africa, click on Google Toolbar and delete the school. Glass bottles with nitrogen oxide come from Alkasham.
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 8:39 AM UTC
All I can think about
Is the rumbling.
The alarming roars
Warning me of
What is coming.
A zebra would be
wonderfully delicious
baked, roasted, or barbequed.
The savory smells stimulate salivation,
I can hardly stomach this frustration.
The roars are overtaking
my thoughts. The growling
will not stop. I try to comfort
my beast with a soft caress,
soothingly rubbing my abdomen.
Hungrily I look up and see it,
The feast of feasts.
Along the path on which I walk a Clydesdale treads along.
Tall, hefty, and robust.
My poor stomach is full of lust.
Yes, a horse is what I want.
No, a horse is what I need.
My stomach is shriveling
as we speak, but have no fear
for tonight I’ll dine as king.
Pepper stuffed hooves
And a pickled horse eye,
oh what a fine delight.
My stomach seemed so empty,
but now you see horse is such a fine delicacy.
Feb 13, 2011
Feb 13, 2011 at 7:21 AM UTC
There is a creek that runs through my neighborhood
It is *****
It is shallow
In the spring it overflows
Thrashing Spilling
Filling each clean corners’ crack and crevices
Stagnation stains the air
Wafting into each household
I like to think of when I was a child
I stood in the water
In all of its inconsequentiality
And looked longingly at the sun
As it swept me away from the sounds of mechanical inefficiencies grinding against the asphalt
As I felt the soles of my shoes soak in filth
Seeping in-between the spaces dividing my toes
I fooled myself into believing this is what other children saw
Something pastoral
Where their rolling hills weren’t so different than my own
Where the stars bled through the skyline’s purple hue
But
I had the sun
The rushing salivation of water surrounding my ankles
The feeling of something gained and lost
A sanctuary
An appreciation amongst
All of that something
All of that nothing
There is a Creek that runs through my neighborhood
It is *****
It is Shallow
It is Mine
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 6:26 PM UTC
Expand.
Enlarge.
People won’t find
Much…
They veer off
The meaning.
They are lost.
Blinded.
By own Choice.
As I’m blinded
Too.
Swallow sand.
Painful.
Gnashing of teeth.
Skin ripped
In Stripes…
Nerves over-excited.
Dilated pupils
Wander desperately.
Hopelessly blinded.
Impaled.
Salivation
Exacerbated.
Breathing at an
unbearable pace.
Do you want to truly terrify a man?
Expand his world.
Nov 12, 2011
Nov 12, 2011 at 1:29 AM UTC
Often travelers who start to thirst
Are greeted by a vision
Perhaps of an oasis
Perhaps maybe even a whole caravan
But although the traveler
May seem so content
His vision tempting his salivation
Throat cracking
The heat beating him down
Bones dried upon the sand
Calling for the lost prayers
From false gods
Apr 5, 2021
Apr 5, 2021 at 1:05 PM UTC
now they saddle up onto the bandwagon du jour
boxcars going east then west
packed in CN tin cans
I watch them wash their faces with their salivation
yellow-eyed,
gnarly-toothed
melting their humanity over an open flame
flushing their autonomy down rust-ringed porcelain bowls
a holistic scope in view of The Absolute
in my darkest hour,
an adolescent beyond transcendence loomed quilts from buried, rare yarns
he is my sprig of sage
a woman on the phone hugged me in soft lulls
she is not my mother
a strange girl on the subway solved the Rubix Cube with dart-y eyes
she is my best friend
those who were supposed to be there
weren't
not even one
but I hear them coming now on the bandwagon du jour
my mouth is sewn shut by stitches of projections
bouncing like swish in my mouth
tastes of foul and misery
inside me lies
Truth, Grace, and Honour
soft soapstone carving of Lady Justice
I crawl inside of you
and you in me
sleep and wake
wake and sleep
Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 4:44 PM UTC
I’d always less than half a sense;
To my detriment, often doubling-down,
Ordering the same sorts of poison –
Warm beer, cold women, back alley-ed eyes
And other late night snacks simmered atop the oil
Salvaged the streets come previously devoured.
Bottled and poured, again and consecutively through me,
An anomaly now evolves average;
Cured only an alchemy wrought, "baijiu," (rice wine),
Crowd summed solitude’s paradox and hazy Chinese moons.
So when in Rome, do as the Romans do
And die as Romans die;
A slighter justification for what’d later trumpet –
Salivation’s sip, salvation’s second,
A tickle atop tongue, sour in stomach
And cancerous come the lesser years,
Deep, nether and beyond the once upon a time barren,
So I plead for seconds and corral but only
Three revelations in the expanses exhumed:
One – I want to die. Two – Tastes beat the years.
And three – The world’s a wonderful meal;
Home to another and common denominator,
The shared variable, viable and pliable,
Our simple ingestion, communal,
So that I may venture a path paved prior
And yet parallel something nearly precious – truly alive.
Either way, it’d satiated but one achy throb
And prevented me from washing the dishes;
A fair trade for someone who’d always assumed early ends.
Apr 11, 2016
Apr 11, 2016 at 9:56 PM UTC
It gets late
as I digest
what I just ate,
some greasy food
and horrible news.
Slumber sneaks in
and I barely feel
it taking me
against my will.
In my dream
I see a pudgy
pale faced
angry man,
skin glistening
with sweat
and thin streaks
of sick salivation
sliding down
the side of his
plush cheeks.
A rumbling voice
of desperate rage
vibrates congestedly
from his strangely
changing face.
Bulbous bulges
of tumorous flesh
expand
in random places
and irregular
rhythms.
His eyeballs explode
from constricting sockets,
causing small jelly chunks
of red, black, and white
to fly at my wide eyes,
while his mouth expands
pulling back to expose
many new emerging rows
of sharp, small, decaying,
black, brown, and yellowish teeth.
His skin ruptures,
stretching jaggedly
in unpredictable places
as he bellows angrily.
Slick gore covered flesh
falls from his form
seeming to smoke
with the putrid smell
rotting roast beef.
Not fully free from
the last bits
of human flesh
the creature
lunges at me,
slipping slightly
on the newly greased ground,
but recovering just as quickly.
Then just as his mouth
is about to chomps down
on my left arm.
I awake
safe from harm.
My computer still blaring
is now sharing
terrible scenes
of the latest
war atrocity.
There are corpses of women,
men, and children
with shrapnel shredded skin,
even little baby bodies
scattered amongst them
in a crater from
some local bombing.
Crimson streaks
trail the frail
disfigured forms
that family members
struggle to carry away.
Strangers moan in pain
not physical,
but spiritual,
and emotional.
My stomach turns
as I yearn
to return
to sleep,
cause I’d rather face
a fake nightmare beast
then see the horrors
stretched out before me
on my computer screen.
Nov 21, 2018
Nov 21, 2018 at 1:49 PM UTC
I roamed and lived on with hope that I would be saved
Then pitch black ink stained my heart
And the light that kept me smiling was lost for good
I grew faster than my body
My soul has wrinkles and chains that tie it down
I escaped one prison just to be incarcerated in another
My dim dull eyes became darker
I used to cry myself to sleep once I could no longer smile
And drowned in my own blood just so that I could sleep without pain
Time passed and the oceans all dried
With sliver mistakes staining my body
I continue on this journey
My demons ruled my life
Fear was a constant treat
With a bruised and ****** cry I'd burned in the rage that soon followed
I crumbled into ashes of grief
From the ashes I was resurrected with a second chance at life
I was weak, I was glass
I could take a few hard hits before I cracked and shattered into insignificant shards
With my second life though, I was reborn with a body of ice
I became cold and strong
With this strength I conquered my demons and paved a new road
I was scared and broken, small and fragile
Now I'm dark and powerful
With a soul that's lived a thousand years
I marched prepared for battle
I used to dream of my savior
My knight that would save me from the dark
The one who would end all the hurt
But I had no savior, no one came
I became my own salvation
I'm all that I have, all that I can trust
Once, I had a heart
But then my mind was opened and my heart broken
The angelic boy of the past is now the warrior of today
I used to be weak and trust in my non-existing savior
Now I'm strong and a lone warrior
I once loved and hoped
Now I'm dead inside and my only salivation
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 10:21 AM UTC
The glint of the bridge had gripped me
A sight so underwhelming yet iconic
A millennium at cost
A sway not lost to the bubble man
As he went about his day
And on I stepped
A path so quaint on a lead to the
Almighty modern
The Tate
As she stood before me
Her statues guarding all
Stunned not to move
Till the golden florin fell
I too fell
In love
Such a picture of an age
Boldness in its making
Daunting of its size
Beauty in its holding
Modern meets the
Master
Inside my breath is still there
Stolen
Taken for ever in its raw
Left in a trail forever
Awaiting my return
From floor to floor I swayed
Drunk in my stagger
Salivation stole my lips
The drooling was lost
For before
I had been blind
Now I would see
The world became me
And I became the ocean
Taking all that washed me over
Nothing was ever going to be the same
For I was in love
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 1:36 AM UTC
Holy, we are born. Holy, is our lives. Holy, is our love. Holy, is our sins. Holy, is our suffering. Holy, is our salivation. Graced Mother bestow us with suffering, cleanse us of divinity.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 8:23 PM UTC
You tell me that I'm in need of something, and it's something I want.
and you're back on your back but there's no shame, not locking the door.
You got a need to please, it's got you down on your knees,
screaming ****** for your pills and your child support.
But tell me why all of her
lovers talk of other
worlds because of her ploy
Give the world to feel like you're no one, and you wonder what for.
Salivation is the only salvation, between you and the floor.
Karma, ****** birds and bees,
saving up the pennies freed by the lock on your jaw.
But tell me why all of her
lovers talk of other
worlds because of her ploy.
The chairman of the board is a no one, 'cause you're queen of his world.
Takes a number just to spread you out longways, makes pretend he's a girl.
Some sultry needs, alarmed, diseased,
not lawful, but at least it's not what mum bargained for.
tell me why all of her
lovers talk of other
worlds because of her ploy
And when I've got some coin,
will you tell me how much it will take to make you love me some more?
Sep 9, 2014
Sep 9, 2014 at 12:51 AM UTC
The diversity of the human creativity fancies the mind to the breadth of the creative expanse...the pleasure of the senses being aroused by the majesty of creative expression is like a sweet ethereal salivation.
Dec 10, 2016
Dec 10, 2016 at 3:34 AM UTC