"sinus" poems
No no no, this isn’t one of those commendable confessional rants of redounded reality.
We all know where that goes and what it leads to.
This rhetoric comprises solely of the faulty intuitive comprehension and the ******** behaviour people have while under the influence of the poor man’s ****
That could be mistaken for a typo.
Xeno-meph, would be what aliens are called if they did this too.
Extended warranty of your sinus cavity is a must.
And a mouth guard so you don’t churn away at the capricious calcium that are your teeth.
Smoke and dance till lungs and legs collapse.
Talk like you’re the spokesperson for an oil company that’s pillaging life and land.
Change your personality in a minute and become the ****** you always wanted to be.
That smart talking, **** wagging, ***** licking, *** ******* back stabbing, self serving, worthless piece of **** is now you, but it doesn’t feel like that to you.
Rational ******** your only reprieve.
Keep doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again hoping the outcome will change.
But you’re cool.
You’ve done this before, it’s solvable.
A break. That’s all there’s to it.
The itch in your nose has stopped. Your jaw doesn’t hurt.
You don’t feel like **** but you know somehow that something is amiss.
Things are not what they seem. Sense doesn’t make itself.
The dark is your sanctum. Fast is your peace.
That’s not a typo.
The world cannot slow down for you.
You have to speed up. Another gram, another line, another lie.
Control is what you say it is.
Handles are what your stomach has.
Fast forward a few months and you don’t have a handle on anything.
You don’t feel down, you feel fine. Nothing’s wrong
But just another fall, and you’re straight out of line.
Justify! Justify! Justify!
Listen, keep listening… Talk! keep talking!
Everything makes sense. Everything is a sense.
The difference is that I’m faster, quicker, sharper.
I’m handicapped.
Leverage is my mind, broken and blind.
I wish that was a typo.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
Gendering Woman *******
Beautiful, anatomical part // Ugly, anatomical part
Natural, pleasurable // Burdensome, loathsome
Female Symbolic // Femme Symbolic
MALIGNANT HEALTHY
fearful, tearful, wretched // joyful, hopeful, euphoric,
bereft, wept, grieving // embryonic, rapt, relieving
leaving, loss // believing, gain
m a y b e - d e a t h r e - b i r t h
BI-LATERAL
MASTECTOMIES
Operating Theatre
SURGEON ANAESTHETIST
cleaning/ cutting/ knife/ scalpel // doping/ unconscious/ airway
blood / tissue // hypotension
loss/ damage // shock
drains // sinus rhythm
stitches // pain deadening
tight binding // reversal drugs
POST-OPERATIVE
a l i v e a w a k e
draining, bound & stitched draining, bound & stitched
DRAINED
~ UNBOUND
-- UNSTITCHED –
Empty chest Flat Chest
FREEDOM from Disease FREEDOM from Dis-ease
© M.L.Emmett
May 19, 2016
May 19, 2016 at 12:28 PM UTC
I say music is my medicine,
But sometimes I get addicted to this Adderall adrenaline,
My mind has gone deeper than the abyss floor,
The irony between good intentions and bad decisions,
Get me out of this mental prison,
I don't want to take orders from a politician,
But if you take a minute to listen,
You'll understand this vision that you're missing.
I bleed ink from these veins like they root through my brain,
A tree of perfect symmetry that I could never tame,
Every branch a connection into a new frame,
Everything is synchronizing like a symphony,
An epiphany, finishing,
She must be the bridge between my Ying and Yang,
Negativity diminishing by positive energy
Reflecting off the sensory,
I stop and don't dismantle this handle of Jack Daniels,
As if it has my questions answered,
And as the sparrow sits upon the branch,
Synapses snap in instants with a plan,
Tracing a line that brings me to the sand,
And the island, the silence,
Sitting softly over the sea's sinus,
Puts me in a content setting, grand,
And when my body corrodes,
If my soul is up for purchase,
I'll remember the day when God and I had conversations in Churches.
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
Sick
Painful
Congested
Sinus Pressure
Up all night coughing
Losing sleep til morning
Next day many body aches
Off to Urgent Care I go
Ear infection diagnosed
On antibiotics
Going home to rest
Feeling better
Coughing less
Smiling
Well
~Miguel
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:36 PM UTC
The smallest microbes cause a fit,
in misery it dwells.
It starts with sniffs and then a sneeze
then sinus membranes swell.
My head begins to throb
and soon my eyes begin to water.
I feel the clammy chills but soon
I find I'm getting hotter.
I cannot rest my head because
I think that I might drown.
You'd think they'd have a cure by now
but colds are still around.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 10:45 AM UTC
My head's a mess. It is. I've been compromised. I've been broken. Like a puzzle where none of the pieces match. None fit. I've realized mine never will either. Because someone has taken away a few and thrown in new ones. And I'm not even sure if I can blaim anyone else but myself. It's chaos. A mess. So I've given up. The fight is over. Leave me alone to curl in the dark corners of my bed. Please don't make me open my eyes. I don't want to see. If you try you will only risk getting your own puzzle shattered. That's what I am now. That's what I've become. The very essence of "you only want what you can't have". Reluctantly indifferent. My heart is off and the switch has stuck. Not wanting to be alone, but deserving it. I'm a safety hazard. Dangerous. I can make you fall in love with me. And that's what I crave. But I have forgotten how to love in return. You think I give and give and give. When all I really try to do is take, take, take to fill myself and switch my heart back on. If it's even there anymore, in the sinus of my chest. I can't tell. I can't feel it. So leave me alone to curl in the dark corners of my bed. Please don't make me open my eyes. I don't want to see what I've done.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 5:56 AM UTC
They call me blood when I **** the silence
I got a pen on paper and a flow like violence
I am so ill, I think I have a virus.
I need to blow these spineless rappers out of my sinus
Then I ate a sexist for breakfast
and I got so sick I spit gay rights into texas.
Rest in peace to all my ex's
I've got em stacked like 20's
in the trunk of my lexus.
-r0
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 11:12 PM UTC
Cool elegance, an aura of joy you possess, a one happy girlfriend...but not mine...
Mine deep down...my all...my dream girl...but am not hers either...not for the world to see...
We know it...only us...the electricity.. when the **** eyes meet...and the room heats...
phones vibrating with ignored texts...trance...hypnotized by deep passions...not embarrassed to reveal your carnal nature
The moments together...a world of difference..no one has to know.... I'm just happy this way...she is just happy this way...
No one has to know...i will keep loving you...i will keep keeping this crush till we are 70...i feel you deep down to my sinus ...and you know that..,
And I know that too...no matter how hard you try...you can never hide how you feel from me
No one has to know....no one will ever know...my secret love
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 5:35 PM UTC
The best mistake I ever made
Was opening that tattered black book
There I sat in a pub
On a mission to forget the world
6 or 7 drinks in
and a bartender all to happy
To pour what ever the roulette produced
thumb, thumb, flip
flip flip
Stop
Category is shots
To the new friend next to me
"why yes, I am to get **** faced"
"oh, you came here for just an occasion"
"well dear sir if you are brave enough next ones on me"
"Hot **** he exclaimed
As I close my eyes and say a silent prayer
I slowly count 4 pages
and place my finger on the page
I call Gwendolyn over and request
With eyes closed the item of my demise
***
She cried
"I love ya but I won't do that to you"
I slurily open my eyes and focus
MEXICAN BLACK JACK
1 part tequila
2 parts whiskey
151 floater
"Double Shot"
I think out loud
whats a lil' ta'kill-ya?
vhiskey? bah.
151 it's just a floater ppppssssshhhhhhh
After a few minutes of convincing
With many a hoot and holler
From my new friends
She takes my keys and reluctantly agrees
Even kindly offers me a chaser and some limes
I will not forsake the liquor gods
Ever get a whiff of turpentine and diesel?
Well that could be gardenias compared to this.
I sit in silence sniffing it
eyes closed lapping at it with my nostrils
I look over at my new buddy
"well chuckles it's now or never ready for this lil' endeavor?"
"Well **** he muttered "I'm a man of my word"
"to life" I exclaimed
head back as that little bit of ******
started it's course
over my tongue into the throat
(why are my sinus' burning?)
don't breath boy
(you know better)
don't
you
eyes pop
and just on cue
flame ever rendering flames
I'm not blind
I'm not blind
I'm not blind
ok I was just squinting
really hard
I look over and my new friend
is now drinking my free chaser.
my game my pain...
Hey Sven leh's go again...
It's a good thing she loves me
I complain to no one
if she hated me I don't think I'd drink here.
2
hours and
4
shots later
I needed a nap good thing the loo was warm
I salute you Sir BlackJack and when I call your name
It's never in vain
Mar 14, 2010
Mar 14, 2010 at 11:56 PM UTC
Why is there such thing as pressure? Social pressure, air pressure, blood pressure, peer pressure, sinus pressure, life pressure
We are pressured by every element ever created yet I am not a diamond
I am not a sparkling gem
I am not perfect
But I am something
I am a soul in a body that isn't truly mine and a pine tree in the middle of a cornfiepld and a bird who has to be fed by it's mother because it doesn't know how to live on it's own;
I am the waves that crash into the shoreline and I am the duckling who is always left behind and I am the broken voice who never yelled hallelujah because I didn't believe I could; I am a guitar that is improperly tuned and a book whose spine is destroyed and I am the child who yelled for her father that never came;
I am a unfinished painting and a crooked portrait and the broken record player that repeats the same groove over and over and over;
Yet I am not perfect, because if I was I would be able to answer your question but I can't and if I could, I know wouldn't be able to stand here and tell you who I truly am
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 11:43 PM UTC
I'm sick.
No, not meaning 'dope', or 'awesome'.
Like, 'hey! Let's shoot Mariah in the face cause this
Sinus infection is killing her!'
My only friends right now?
My dog.
Maury.
Chapstick.
and
Jell-O.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 2:23 PM UTC
if i were to bread my tongue
with rocoto and cornmeal
and twist to reach the andean soil
my tastebuds long for so many nights
out of the year
olfaction and your left-sinus blockage
would stay cradled
in broken-baguette bread-crust baskets,
a trebuchet's missile,
naïve to the horn of the world,
and brittled to a carcinogenic crisp
caped in my earthenblood geysers
en el humo, en la tierra del fuego
in(fierno)
i recount by the tally marks of black felt
resorted to in the puddling of spilt tea,
(like broken china, you never missed
a beat to correct potential error
and my memory),
i count them to remember
the epiphanies standing over a red faucet
a gallon water jug, whistling snail-trickle,
wishing away the cracks in the grout
or the grout itself,
wishing away the cracks in the pottery
or porcelain facade of which
you're so fond and grace with singing cuticles
the fingers of a pianist
lacking the wherewithal
and solid brick gall
to answer the ivory's summons
i am not a piece of clay,
i respond poorly to your sculpture of my surface,
covered in oxides and baked in
hell's oven, your mountain fire
scathes me as it does cedar resin
and i am similarly embittered,
pooling sap & draining smoke
in the embers and dead charcoal
of your embrace
avant le corps, sans l'âme
sans le corps, avant l'âme
Jan 28, 2014
Jan 28, 2014 at 9:30 PM UTC
Deep inside the heart collides
With the majesty that is the sun.
And polyps grow on feet below -
Where the grandeur is forced to shun.
Grey gritty gravel gets jammed
Between my toes,
And flies through a rolled up twenty
To stay wedged far in my nose.
If sinus’s are clogged like pours,
Scratched by a Cheetos finger,
The rocks get stuck and Id mocks
While the crush starts to linger;
Numbs the cavity where inside lives
A thousand hungry hippies
Sitting still until they see
A cloud up on a water lily.
So set out to feed their queen bee
Whom lives inside the skull
(And) demands, commands, yearns and pleads
To feel that numbing null.
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 8:31 PM UTC
Late nights spent in the depths of the Gita,
Self realization nipping at my boot heals.
Reading the lines of a gone, but not forgotten,
Gay poet, shedding a tear to his epitaph.
Death always sinks its teeth in deep,
Deep into the bowels of the subconscious,
Twisting and writhing through long
Dead emotions, finally expiring its final breath
Through the sinus cavity and out the eyes.
Breakfast is no longer held in the morning,
But far beyond dawn’s reach in the late afternoon,
Much needed sleep is pushed off until
The last minute.
God bless procrastination.
God bless my body, soul, consciousness,
And mind.
God bless those ravaged by war and hate.
Trailing after sunset for that one great fix,
No escape for the ones within its grasp.
Naked we lay in bed,
Until the noon sun kisses our cheeks.
Naked we lay in our hearts, bodies,
Souls, and spirits.
Naked is the man who looks himself in the mirror,
Only to find a corpse in the hollowed eyes that
Sleep deprivation has left him.
Overheated and lost in ill-repaired pipes
At midnight,
Loneliness creeps in like a spy to my senses.
The great manifesto has seeped its way into my brain
And retired in the retinas of self-loathing.
Unforgiving poisons course through the veins.
Strobe lights dim the senses,
People in slow movements of black and white.
Paying our debt,
Debt that is owed to our maker
From the dawn of time to the ravaged streets
Of a morally degraded and ignorant,
Politically correct World.
Dance with me tonight.
Dance in the streets with joy and madness.
Dance with tumorous disease.
Dance with the leper's cry.
Dance with the sodomite’s urge.
Dance with the looming shadows.
Dance with the bigots and the profiteers.
Dance with me, because we are free.
Mar 22, 2011
Mar 22, 2011 at 6:51 PM UTC
Life is a sticky
Honey sweet
Mess
Rotten
Yellow teeth
Haunting me
But not from ****
Powdered dreams
Snorting sinus cleaning
I never did that line
But I was still a ******
Getting high
On time
Pill popping
Pain pusher
In prose and poetry
I tapped that vein
Till no blood remained
Till the **** stains
Claimed my pain
Private person
Open window
The cold wind
Would not let me go
A hundred ephedrine pills
To **** my heart
Cold sweats
Anxiousness
And I could not ***
But worse of all
I could not go
Could not sleep
Could not rest
Could not die
Though I did my best
Teeth chipped
Broken calcium
Black cavity
Shallow but painful
And Vicodin
And Vicodin
Till I had to sell them
To my suicidal friend
And Monster drinks
And five hour energy
To write
To work
To stay alert
But the worse addiction
I ever knew
Was pain
Waking every day
Never knew withdrawal
Every day a brand new pain
Every night a brand new poem
I never killed the ******
He just rode me from one high
To the next
I never killed the ******
Even though I wanted to
I never had the gun
Or the ******
The rope or razor blade
Or the ****
I never killed the ******
Even though I wanted
That son of ***** dead
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
my thoughts, so potent just before--
like fresh-pressed olive drops
that lingered, lipping from the fragrant spout--
now pass, diffuse atop an ocean vast.
i imagine willing it to be a pond,
not for its lesser size alone
but mostly for its calm,
reflective height; yet
these waves are
distort ruthlessness
of liquid dust
by slapping, tower-high
the central ocean rip-whirl tide:
and gone--
as Homer's heroes screaming as they drown,
deaf as oars but for their final gasps
of yearned-for clarity:
of nameless pride's Ithacan king
abrading lustful wrists
restrained to blind a god's son's single eye
by tentacles of twisting, tactful fate.
by threaded loom rethreaded
soon i see my salty self in suit
of sameness, tricking time
by indolence or theft--
from truth, from others' hearths--
the difference winks in bubbles on the cosmic shore...
foam so clean i grin to call it spume,
grin to brace the seabed to my algaed chest
in salinating crush of sand, of blood-sharp shell and rock,
in sungreen warmth of blue and life
in crashing sinus wince
i grit aegean nereids in my sneeze,
splay their formless sexing into pelvic scrapes
of quickened starbursts anciently reborn,
squeezed in pleasure tears and laughing drops--
as all pelagic ***** must
within the pressure of a world,
its breathing darkness spotted with transmuted sun,
expel itself in sensate gusts--
as octopodal spurting flings
in liquid ****** of purpose forth,
(or backwards, sideways, in and out)--
so too i think
and thinking, drown my ink
instead of drowning thinking in my ink
.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 11:11 PM UTC
Dame Maladie lâchez moi donc un peu !
Dame Maladie vous fûtes une compagne,
Empressée, aux soins jaloux.
Souvent c'était le nez coulant, plus que nature.
qui donnait au sinus, brûlures de vinaigre.
Enfant c'était l'asthme, d'étouffements suivis,
M'empêchant de dormir, autrement qu'en fauteuil.
Puis dans les années ou tant de sots font carrière,
Ce fut la Melancholia et des longues angoisses,
La sensation terrible de ne pouvoir écrire,
En tout cas au rythme que l'on m'avait fixé,
et les conseil idiots, de tant de bien-portants,
souvent suivi de honte de me voir méprisé.
Puis vint cet eczéma comme une fournaise,
Faisant brûler la peau, comme de, feu Nessus,
La tunique brûlante, puis l'envie de gratter,
Qui soulage la peine avant de l'aggraver.
et mon corps désormais, prenant peur du salé de la mer,
dont enfant j'aimais tant à chevaucher les vagues.
Quelques années plus **** l'intestin, à son tour,
Vint s'occuper de moi et me tenir prostré,
Car riz, charbon et coing restaient insuffisants,
Pour stopper les coliques qui me tenaient chez moi,
la position couchée devenant un refuge,
et seule la lecture me tenait compagnie.
Certes la Médecine est une grande Dame.
Que j'appris a connaître au delà du commun.
Elle sait bien soulager mais rarement guérir.
Et sa fréquentation n'admet point le divorce.
Un jour, peut être, hélas, mes sens s'apaiseront.
Mais pour un long sommeil qui se nomme la Mort,
Paul Arrighi
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 12:13 PM UTC
I’m throwing up on myself in the bathtub
and chain-smoking these Newport box 100’s because I need this nicotine but I could stop if I wanted
I have more willpower than any one person should be allotted
but that’s just the way it is
and I smoke them three at a time in hopes sometime soon this can **** me
its strange to say that I don't know you
when I was under you just a week ago
and you have that tattoo on your neck of the Bayside emblem
and when I traced It with my tongue you moaned in my ear
and you smelled of sour diesel and Marlboro reds and Budweiser
and now im a little partial to that
because that smell is seared into my sinus
and in the morning I would struggle to find my clothes
wrapped in the sheets and try to sneak out of there
before you could grab my wrist with tattooed arms
and whisper “stay, please”
so this is me sneaking down your steps in my socks
and tiptoeing past your Christmas tree
and opening the iron gate in front of your walkway
and this is me driving away in the rain at 6 am
because I should not be sleeping with a 24 year old man when I am 17
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
I think I'm getting a
Sinus infection.
It feels all too familiar,
And ******
Maybe it's because I've been ******
To others.
Or maybe because I threw my
Cigarette on the ground.
Maybe because I looked at,
A stranger,
And judged him.
Or because I lied to my boss,
Regarding my tardiness.
No.
None of these.
I'm ashamed,
For thinking that someone,
Something,
Cares enough to punish me,
For my lack of consistent morality.
I accept instead,
That life is indifferent,
And sometimes,
People,
Good and bad,
Fall ill.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
She's younger than me
She's just eighty-three
but you'd think she's
a hundred and ten.
She talks of her aches.
She talks of her pains.
Then she tells them all over again.
She wins all the "prizes"..
She likes to advise us
on all the troubles she has
like sun-burning too easy
and how she gets queasy,
flat feet, sinus problems and gas!
She has all of these plus
she's weak in the knees.
Her heart sometimes beats out of time.
The bugs like her better.
She says they all get her.
Her bites swell the size of a dime.
(Actually, a quarter but it didn't rhyme.)
She has trouble sleeping.
She has trouble eating.
Some foods they give her the hives.
To hear when she tells it,
she isn't so well. It's a wonder
she's even alive.
Too healthy am I.
I can't even try
to keep up with the conversation.
The ante's too much.
Her ails I can't touch.
I've not even had operations.
She has, you know, from
her head to her toe.
They've taken out pieces and parts.
She keeps them in jars.
They're never too far
to be shown at a game of hearts.
When she whips out her stones
and pieces of bones,
we just smile and then nod our heads.
She knows she's the winner and
we're just beginners.
"Hey, can't we talk about
the weather instead?"
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 11:35 AM UTC
I get these headaches that start right behind the middle of my eyebrow, swoops down into my nose and then swings up and pings off my forehead.
They call them “sinus headaches.”
The word sinus in italian means canals. And when I think of that, I can’t help but think of little gondolas with Italian men singing to me as I look at the stars. It doesn’t make the headache go away but it really makes me wish I were in Italy.
It’s funny how when things get rough, we instantly gravitate towards escaping to foreign lands. A headache certainly isn’t the roughest it could be, that’s for sure.
But escape…that’s a double-edged sword. Escape isn’t what it promises. While the idea of sipping pina coladas poolside, or meditating in a forest far away may seem like perfect, what does that really resolve? It means that whatever made you leave is still waiting for a resolution. Even worse, it probably grew in size. Bills become bills plus interest and late fees. Arguments turn from “how dare you say that?” to “how dare you leave after saying that?” When you leave, you leave behind a mess with the assumption that others will take care of you, but instead, frustrations rise and you break ties.
Whenever I get sick or nauseous, I immediately start thinking of my own personal Nirvana. I visualize the image of myself in this beautiful place relaxing and breathing in that maple tree air and hearing the river waves around me.
That’s nice, right? And that’s ok. I think we’re all allowed our mental escapes once in awhile.
But actual physical escapes? Those hurt others. And no amount of river wave will fix that.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
The cameras were set the madman of Hello after snorting so sinus powder
was hopped up like a fat kid in a cake factory.
So Gonzo any thoughts on the new HP?
Gonzo. Well always new they'd find a way to steal my thoughts and secertly mentally **** me and kidnap Mr pickles!
Ummm
Gonzo Yeah I know thats why im only taking pills from trusted drug dealers like
Mother Terresa, And Capt Grabby Hands
Are you okay?
Gonzo. hmmm what's it all mean dear lady?
sure you capture me drag me to your dungeon have your way with me
take some pics update your facebook status like anyone gives A **** what you eat for dinner or your a lonley cat lady.
but honestly who doest like pussy?'
*** your insane and put that away!
Gonzo. What i was just getting my trusty pocket fisherman
and my invisble anti earth crab spray.
I dont even wanna know.
Gonzo. hey ive learned always bring protection no matter how they look the flying monkeys are everywhere!
Ummm do you need help?
Gonzo. Ever **** next a man who has no sense of smell yeah kinda takes all the fun out of it kinda like some new changes.
do like magic miss?
Ummm well .
Gonzo. check your cooler.
Theres nothing in it.
Gonzo.
MAGIC
Now call your sister i bet she's gonna have a baby.
Wow how did you know that? Magic?
Gonzo. no we've been having fun after that annoying husban of her's
finally goes to work.
Hey he's coming over and he ses he's gonna.
Hey where'd you go?
The interviewers cell rings.
Hello?
Gonzo. Magic!
Mar 2, 2011
Mar 2, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
Lost within plain sight.
Heart rhythms of sinus gone to tach
my heart beats for what?
So lucid and everquestioning
just taking space in my mind
questions unanswered
drifting in the universe
lost within plain sight
Minds racing.
Here is the future,
so out of reach.
Culturally deceived truth; it's all relative.
Society smells of it, lies and ludeness impacting.
Exposed indefinite maliciousness
life and the revelation therein,
being ever lost; within plain sight
Jan 24, 2011
Jan 24, 2011 at 2:32 AM UTC