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"sodium" poems
Like sodium to Water. Young and reckless with Our hearts and ourselves.
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Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 7:49 PM UTC
Chemistry
a 4am fox inspects the night's carcass under the sodium delete of street light and to the sound of my wife's gentle snoring
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May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
4am fox
Donuts, o donuts, Wheat Flour Enriched Soybean, Palm and Cottonseed Oil Hydrogenated Vegetable Oil Partially Hydrogenated Cocoa Processed with Alkali, Sodium Acid Pyrophosphate Sodium Aluminum Phosphate Aluminum Sulfate Salt, Dextrose, Soy Lecithin, Guar Gum, Cellulose Gum, Tapioca Dextrin, Corn Dextrins, Mono Diglycerides, Citric Acid, Enzymes, Natural & Artificial colors & flavors Sorbic Acid and Sodium Propionate and Potassium Sorbate To Retain Freshness: Eat 'em up yum.
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Mar 30, 2012
Mar 30, 2012 at 2:08 PM UTC
Donut Gems
but darling, mon chéri, when you kiss me in the night rain with the glow of the sodium vapor lamp on your skin (or is it happiness?) and i see your eyelids, ever fluttering blinded by our love & raindrops i hop on a leg and jump once more in the puddle (splashh) (i'm) flamingo legged & shy so kiss me again oh me oh my
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Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 6:40 AM UTC
flamingo kisses
"Calcium Phosphorus Oxygen Iodine Sodium Sulfur Tantalum Dysprosium. Oxygen Radium, Protactinium Radium Manganese Nickel Sodium Potassium Oxygen."
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Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 4:27 AM UTC
hiddin' meaning ^_^
Chemicals - hexafluorosilicic acid and sodium fluorosilicate Derived from the phosphate mining industry, both considered highly toxic by the EPA These hazardous wastes are dumped into drinking water LIES ... Fluoride - it's so good for your teeth lies the dentist, lies the doctor, lies the politician Lies the dead fish in the water
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Aug 21, 2012
Aug 21, 2012 at 8:08 PM UTC
Portland - Toxic Fluoride - (hazardous waste)
In the wayward’s of a Wiccan do no harm (those who’ve paid heed) Ye old religion doth fright some believing charms hold ***** deeds Familiar’s rest contently by Ye pentagram untangling lives within ye coven “their” demise will make all “those who’ve paid” view twice “Peace is free, peace is free Invoke thee, invoke thee Evil doers now flee, now flee far, far away from thee” Sodium sears without ye knowledge invade homesteads if you dare but if evil hath been among you tis your soul that will be bared” Ye old religion doth fright some believing charms hold ***** deeds In the wayward’s of a Wiccan do no harm (those who’ve paid heed)
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Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 6:49 PM UTC
Wayward's of A Wiccan
I have hairy legs. The dishwasher is broken. I have been reading books. I have been solving stupid math equations I have to wash the food crusted dishes. I’m writing a novella I’m also researching sodium chloride My novella is only six pages single-spaced so far. Comment vous appelez-vous? Why doesn’t anyone participate In the Wash Your Own **** Dishes Program? I’m studying French. -b +/- Square root of b2 – 4 (a)(b) over 2(a) Anyways. I have been teaching myself How to play my Black Stretchy Accordion. [I don’t know why, But it’s stretchy Like mozzarella cheese] I have to help my sister-in-law move Into my house. Into the basement. Heh heh heh. Daiya non-dairy cheese: “Melts and stretches!” Now I have to scrape the Black tar gunk Off the plates, because Mother told me to do so. Oh, the odium of sodium! There is No more time For me To shave My legs.
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Apr 6, 2011
Apr 6, 2011 at 7:15 PM UTC
Hairy Legs
If you visit google's home page today You will see a Japanese man Examining noodles with a microscope Hahaha Thank you Momofuku Ando! For inventing Top Ramen Although not the healthiest choice Here are the sodium levels for each flavor Top Ramen Oriental Flavor-- 800 mg 33% daily value Top Ramen Beef Flavor-- 760 mg 32 % daily value Top Ramen Chicken Flavor-- 910 mg 38% daily value Top Ramen Shrimp Flavor-- 860 mg 36% daily value Top Ramen Picante Beef Flavor-- 780 mg 32% daily value Top Ramen Chili Flavor-- 760 mg 32% daily value If you are watching your sodium levels Stay away from the chicken and shrimp flavors Lol! Many college students Throughout the past few decades Have relied on Top Ramen As they crammed for their exams I have even indulged And enjoyed Top Ramen Once or twice During my early college years
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Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 11:23 AM UTC
A Tribute To Momofuku Ando
The bar was full                in the basement of my mind and i read the manual, my buddy hunched over on a stool beside me. “it’s a cinch he said” not really, though, because people don’t speak in dreams. (i ascribe to them 50‘s slang expressions) my beer was magically empty and others were magically full studying alien life forms in this book this manual and wanting to puke. dreaming is stressful and so is life. where is the best place to hang a bathrobe?
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Jul 1, 2011
Jul 1, 2011 at 11:08 AM UTC
Sodium Toothpaste
He crinkled the daily paper and thought out loud, "You're my best friend." She scuffed her kitten heels, prodding for more. Far inside she told herself to take it lightly. He knew she knew that he knew it was temporary. Acting as if she made him happy. She sunk deep in the velvet green couch. Cons and pros of being the leaver or the left. He stared past Valentine cards and the spot on the carpet, where they laughed and spilled tomato soup. Their faces drooped and became that soup. Sodium and protein soaking into the ground every which-way. She resided and sat up out of their yard-sale bought couch. She set her mind on staying by his side. He toppled over on the yard tools he never touched. Now next to his side was the Earth's crust. She was left in the air and he laid in muck. His voice played over in her head, "You're my best friend."
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May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
Tomato Soup
when i look in the mirror, i do not see the “oh my god, you’re so skinny,” i do not see the “you need to eat more,” not the “there’s no way you’re not anorexic,” not the “i wish my body looked like yours.” when i look in the mirror, i see the “you’re fat,” i see the “she’s skinnier than you,” i see the “you need to be skinny, or you won’t get a husband,” i see the “eat less,” i see the "you need to be the skinniest one in your friend group," i see the trans fat saturated fat cholesterol sodium dietary fiber sugar protein Calorie Count.
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Apr 27, 2018
Apr 27, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
Calorie Count
I’m not quite sure, yet everything I do appears to me as being viciously half-assed yet sincere. I write this mid-winter [I guess?] on the RTA with twenty dollars on me and I don’t want to know in the bank, with cold feet, both literally and metaphorically. The future looks decent from a distance in bar light. As I feign some resemblance of being classy and collect more sodium on my footwear, I ponder the passing of an officer who flashed a light to look at me in the dark on my way from home. It makes me glad I speak English, where there are such hard, sharp and unsympathetic undertones to phrases like, **** off”. It’s dark on the way through Cleveland. Try to stay warm.
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Apr 8, 2014
Apr 8, 2014 at 6:22 PM UTC
"There's ******* Salt on Everything."
The ocean has a salinity of about 3.5% And contains mostly sodium chloride Which is the same salt that streaks Down my cheeks whenever I cry But I didn't notice a difference The evening I wandered into high tide Despite the warnings offered by lifeguards "The current is rough and the sand is steep" But I was determined to wash Every ounce of you off of me But it seemed that no matter how many waves Crashed against me and knocked me off my feet No amount of water would cleanse me. So the next best thing I could think of Was to exhale every vapor of you And fill my lungs with saltwater And it reminded me of falling in love And I drowned just as effortlessly.
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Aug 13, 2013
Aug 13, 2013 at 2:10 PM UTC
Saltwater Tears
corundum puppies and you begin to wonder if they’ll ever move again not much escapes your midas touch you used to organgrind your teeth and nails at the dusty mayhem floors (it’s suppertime baby let’s **** some airtime by eating the fish right off the CAUTIONwet hardwood as they gasp for air so we gasp for blood) seashell lakeshore pumpkinpatch painting of bugjuice spattered on the back windshield; you’re not afraid of a little fog. not enough sodium in the air (not enough salt in your wounds) and you begin to choke on the potassium of our bananasplit ages ago; if you’re eating your own molasses words please make sure you spit them back out again where the children can have them they wouldn’t say no to something sweet
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Oct 24, 2012
Oct 24, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
pea soup & pending
Who can know sweet When one has yet to taste sour, Or appreciate salt, When one eats bread without sodium?
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Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 12:51 PM UTC
Contrast
A dying man does nothing easy,“Lock and load. Let's do it”,said G.W. Green Right before Jack Pursley sent 3-5 grams of sodium thiopental coursing through his veins in Texas. Sticking with the states motto it was probably 5. As lethal drugs flowed into his arms, he used an obscenity to describe life, gasped once and made no further movement. Imagine his brief confidence in the face of this adversity, before the heart’s blood Settled in the ventricles. Some have called such confidence a monstrosity titled, “Hubris”-- Alexander of Macedonia thought it necessary, to cross the turbulent river against fear -ful odds. For destiny demanded imitation of his exemplar Achilles Quickly eroded was this by the pleas of Parmenio, who reasons it would be,“failure at the outset.” Imagine Alexander reciting the words of G.W. Green, instead of heeding to this squelching caution How quickly we’d throw this decisions bones in the pile, with ****** In Stalingrad & Nixon in Vietnam All to be shoved in to, a mass grave of faulted zealots. Covered with soil, bitter compost not to be forgotten Rosemary sprouts next to a burning bush in Iraq.
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Dec 25, 2012
Dec 25, 2012 at 5:36 AM UTC
Hubris and History
My Lighthouse Poem 4/4/2014 You make my toes tingle, I never noticed them before. You're like my hit single, in my mind every time I walk out the door, to start my day. You brighten my soul and one touch makes me feel a million different ways. One more positive than the other, but each heading in the same right direction, to you. I can't wait to trace every single millimeter of your body, like I am on a treasure hunt. And all I can find at each spot I come into contact with is golden beauty. Your words are pure and unadulterated, like the low sodium soy sauce and fresh ginger with sushi. Ooo, there's just something in your smile, and no it's not spinach. It's a reflection of a happier me, knowing that I could be with you and be happy. I'll call you my lighthouse, and nobody will understand. They'll think I was a lost ship, and that you helped me reach the sand. Really it's because you are a stable structure, out at an emotional sea in a dark sky night. Really it is because none of the others compare, to your special kind of shine bright, with that light, that I'm fixated on. On our first date we played bingo and shuffleboard. On our second date, sushi and tarot cards. Who knows what crazy adventures any future dates will be, but who really cares when they include you and me? Yeah, that's right, it's enough with just you and me, my lighthouse.
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Apr 4, 2014
Apr 4, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
My Lighthouse
I bent my toes over the tub like talons on a sunbaked branch and clenched the curtain in my gloved hands. I sprayed Tilex on a scouring pad and scrubbed the black mold riddling the ceiling and caulked edges of the shower like leprosy. My lungs filled with nitrogen, oxygen, and argon as well as sodium hypochlorite and hydroxide, spores, and mycotoxins. I staggered backwards, trying to find solid ground but found only a dazed, curtain-wrapped fall to the cold linoleum below.
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Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 12:02 PM UTC
Lungs
I’ve been thinking about hands a lot lately and how fingerprints are like permanent, foreshadowing tree rings etched onto our beings; I wonder if the number of rings on my palms have any correlation to the number of years I’ll live or the number of years he’ll live or the number of years that she lived. I’ve been thinking a lot about         life lines        and        heart lines and if there is any stock to be found in palmistry; I wonder how my fate line got to be so muddled with my luck line.   I see my life the way a clairvoyant would: in cut-up and choppy strips of film— I should have seen the omens, I should have read the smoke signals, I should have recognized the cards. Act One began on a waning crescent moon and continued until its gluttonous belly had swollen with light; I thought to myself that craniums made of gallium often melt the quickest, that blood filled with plutonium often flows the slowest.  I would have given my body up to the pathologist free of charge, would have let him dig his hands into my entrails for some sort of divination, some sort of revelation— I was never told to beware the Ides of June nor the Kalends of November. Act Two began with the birth of Jack Frost and has been continuing without intermission for the past four celestial cycles; I thought to myself that heart valves made of sodium polyacrylate often love the most, that sinkholes disguised as fingertips often feel the deepest.  He whispered in my ear cliched words about not believing in God, but how I made him feel blessed, and in that moment I knew he was the oneiromantic being that had been shadowing my dreams since 1996— I guess you could say that, sometimes, I believe in love. There is an art to fortune-telling there is an art to hands there is an art to bones there is an art to dreams, and over the years, I have found them coinciding more often than not.  In my sleep, in notebooks, in irises, in mirrors, in poetry, in small little sighs. I do not know if I believe in fate or destiny, in God, in auras, or in the Blood Moon Prophecy, but I do know that I believe in you.  I find myself writing sappy verses and smelling your shirts and I do not know if it is because I miss you or if it is because I’m bored or if they’ve somehow                        mergedintothesamething.   I’ve been wondering a lot lately about where you show up on my hands; about where he showed up and where she showed up.  I want to know which lines bisect and which lines fall short; I want to know if the resemblance between         mother        and         daughter continues into that of my palm lines.  I want to know if my life line matches hers and if my heart line is even worth giving away— find me in your crystal ball, make me your sacrificed animal, look for my body in the stars, and we will know that         it was all made to be.
0
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 7:02 PM UTC
Haruspex
I’ve been thinking about hands a lot lately and how fingerprints are like permanent, foreshadowing tree rings etched onto our beings; I wonder if the number of rings on my palms have any correlation to the number of years I’ll live or the number of years he’ll live or the number of years that she lived. I’ve been thinking a lot about         life lines        and        heart lines and if there is any stock to be found in palmistry; I wonder how my fate line got to be so muddled with my luck line.   I see my life the way a clairvoyant would: in cut-up and choppy strips of film— I should have seen the omens, I should have read the smoke signals, I should have recognized the cards. Act One began on a waning crescent moon and continued until its gluttonous belly had swollen with light; I thought to myself that craniums made of gallium often melt the quickest, that blood filled with plutonium often flows the slowest.  I would have given my body up to the pathologist free of charge, would have let him dig his hands into my entrails for some sort of divination, some sort of revelation— I was never told to beware the Ides of June nor the Kalends of November. Act Two began with the birth of Jack Frost and has been continuing without intermission for the past four celestial cycles; I thought to myself that heart valves made of sodium polyacrylate often love the most, that sinkholes disguised as fingertips often feel the deepest.  He whispered in my ear cliched words about not believing in God, but how I made him feel blessed, and in that moment I knew he was the oneiromantic being that had been shadowing my dreams since 1996— I guess you could say that, sometimes, I believe in love. There is an art to fortune-telling there is an art to hands there is an art to bones there is an art to dreams, and over the years, I have found them coinciding more often than not.  In my sleep, in notebooks, in irises, in mirrors, in poetry, in small little sighs. I do not know if I believe in fate or destiny, in God, in auras, or in the Blood Moon Prophecy, but I do know that I believe in you.  I find myself writing sappy verses and smelling your shirts and I do not know if it is because I miss you or if it is because I’m bored or if they’ve somehow                        mergedintothesamething.   I’ve been wondering a lot lately about where you show up on my hands; about where he showed up and where she showed up.  I want to know which lines bisect and which lines fall short; I want to know if the resemblance between         mother        and         daughter continues into that of my palm lines.  I want to know if my life line matches hers and if my heart line is even worth giving away— find me in your crystal ball, make me your sacrificed animal, look for my body in the stars, and we will know that         it was all made to be.
Continue reading...
67
i read that astronauts can tell from outer space which cities are newly built because electricians are making streetlights out of sodium vapor now as opposed to mercury, so now road outlines glow orange and newer cities tend to be more geometrically planned, all straight edges and such, while older cities are made up of frantic curves and corners and i wonder if i look to you like i have been worn and used, am i frenzied and dull, or am i new?  maybe my jagged lines have been sanded and smoothed maybe i still glow
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Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
astronomy
Brains constantly devoured, Forged as the unknown. Intellect decieving creative diction Pardon errors and revise. The hours you spent Absorbing anything but sleep, Piles up to the layers Of stars and air. Stop being the person You thought you were. Brush off values you knew, Learn to teach something old. Tear ducts flood out Sodium enhanced contracts, That binded you to affliction Yesterday, and all hours that remain. It doesn't have to stop, And it doesn't have to start. Sit through the releasing Of depressing minds. Cope with the contract That you desperately signed. Let them hear you weep And see your pathetic eyes. Stars shine with hope, You shine with sadness. Thirsting for more oppertunities That allow you to feel something. Now that there is nothing left To feel, and nothing left To hate, forgetting them Is chronologically ensuing.
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Nov 10, 2011
Nov 10, 2011 at 9:43 AM UTC
Sodium Contract
she spoke to me, on the daffodil sweetness of the pasture while the grasses, waving, muttered their moist message on the wind of rot, and renewal, (but hold your lips, be still for an explosion of intimacy, for a moment) 'Are those a constellation?' she asks. "The Pleiades." 'You don't know that.' she doesn't care where the car begins, exhaling gently, to stop and she commends its forward motion (the keening love of a sodium light and forgetfulness in every bone of my body) I love the thrum of it, below my feet, murmuring vibrato in the pedals. They have a Huck Finn cave display at Disneyworld. In Adventure Island, or somewhere, or one of us, deep in the vastness of spines and fingers. Its fiberglass walls are a portrait of America - the glean of dew a reflection of that spirit that drove us over the borders, the rivers, to Oregon, so we could love under a naked moon, and renounce our lives of glee, and security for the bright unsettled plantation of the starless fields. 'You don't know a constellation from a cloud of dandelion seeds.' But oh, my relentless pioneer love, I do - I know a constellation is made of stars, and rough determination, and I know that, love is a today thing, and we are yesterday people that pain is tomorrow, and we will always be children of the dusk preceding destined, dear, to find our love receding Are you prepared, or will the wilderness this time swallow you?
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Feb 23, 2010
Feb 23, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
Perennial Wagons and the Softest Stars
Outta sight, outta mind. An eye for an eye. Walmart, Sobeys obey the ****** man Circled up family clan Noises from a familiar land Castles of torture for our souls Silver, Gold, and Mercury, and Plutonium, Sodium, Potassium mold On stands held tight by weakening hands They lead you along a path far away from Truth locked away in the Promise Land. Up in our heads, in our thoughts, the higher self will lead the way, Never to be left on a shelf Take it down for daily dissection Self-Righteous freedom of introspection Mothersoul sitting on the ties of the railroad, Looking down the path to his homeland. Birdys and net turkey stuffing you can bet.
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Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 8:16 PM UTC
outta sight