"somatic" poems
in the somatic nervous system,
acetylcholine (ACh) stimulates skeletal muscle, causing contraction
action potentials
in the 8am physio lecture,
the biggest on campus
crammed with nursing majors,
and health science hankerers,
public health preachers,
OT saints and angels
amino acid NTs: glutamate (+) GABA (-) aspartate (+) glycine (-)
the prof wrote on a distant whiteboard
too many complained about being lost
she made a joke about feeding *******
to mice for her neuroscience research
amines: serotonin (-) dopamine (-/+) norepinephrine (+/-) epinephrine (+)
STEM-dominated
when i'm just looking
to drop my roots
and press that
good earth into
the spaces between
my toes and
under my nails
but the grounds are a garden
of biodiversity from clippings
gathered by migrant habit-clad
founders more than a century ago
the soil is fertile it is temperate
there are water filters in most residences
there is enough here for me
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 3:06 PM UTC
I am...
Funny word that
So perfect, so fitting
****** -"relating to the mind." "A psychopath"
"Somatic " - "relating to the body, especially as distinct from the mind."
Its great knowing the pain I feel...
All of its in my head.
I'm crazy for inflicting it on myself
But im ****** i cant help it
Psychosomatic is what I am
Mind over matter...right?
Jul 5, 2015
Jul 5, 2015 at 11:14 PM UTC
semi-sarcastic
fully somatic
cigarette addict
bracelet wearer
ramen noodle sharer
and nothing else.
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 1:03 AM UTC
Come to me.
your inscribed
slashes of verse
branded upon
the juice of
my tongue
a specter
of the ultimate gift
as we allow
the magic
to rise
and peel off in
swathed, aching
layers,
undone
Each stratum of
dermis shed
is a prayer for
our succulent
redemption
Each shadow of
silky cuttlefish caress
a plea for sanctity
or perhaps simply
being loved
into a frenzy
of sanity
healing in waves
of electric eyes
You open me
like a holy book
and I am suddenly
filled with light
as you unlock
the blessings
from my spinal fluid
and I am a priestess
on her altar
arms raised,
love braised
into slick-lit wonder
a spiral cone rising from
ground to crown
chakric palette pulsating
phosphorescent ripples
on deep-sea creatures
Your ubiety
slakes my naked,
somatic anatomy
a mere shelter
for our souls
a working
of muscle and skin
with heart strings pumping
the essence within
Our brainwaves
sizzle in
glandular fire
as pheromones
envelope us
like incense
This goes far beyond the
wet cuntflush of desire
beyond the embellishment
of moistened sword
It is the sacred dance
of souls that merge
before even touching
pre-verbal animal
first light of mankind
in ancient swells
of earth that
rise like sparks
the constellations
of firework chimes
in arcs of
chiseled
dark
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 7:26 PM UTC
all fell silent around me
tho could hear humansounds from highway now ethereal
as if noise had been turned down on world
no longer screeching threat
where is everyone what are they doing
suddenly irrelevant as now realized
piece of every soul i ever touched
i carry with me forever
i light at night to keep warm
big fireside grinning buddha meditation
never forgetting
until so swollen with joy of
our six degrees beautiful imperfect chaos crashing
can hardly breathe but to love everyone
all better now no longer cold and empty
can feel multitude of proud heartbeats
can hear a thousand new cough lungs
sweet histories and meanings
left with calm immobility no need to tell
they know too the cold night old soul warm heart connection
now sure of this
paralyzing somatic reconnection
creep thru solemn autumn garden
whoever's next in line
can have what's left
done fighting
Sep 15, 2014
Sep 15, 2014 at 4:38 PM UTC
A Finn-Dorset clone,
Now not the alone.
Born on 5 July in 1996,
She died on Valentine's Day in 2003.
The celebrity sheep she died at the age of six,
Produced not from the common ovine ***
Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer created her, read on.
Named after Dolly Parton,
'Coz of her admired *****
Somatic cells were taken from a sheep's udders,
Extracted not without the sheep's jitters.
This sheep was the donor.
However, these cells were enucleated,
And the enucleated nucleus was handled.
Injected it was into a Finn-Dorset's embryo,
Oh yes, the embryo was without a nucleus.
This sheep was the recipient.
Without a folly, born was Dolly,
Resemble she did the donor.
Not only in its visible phenotype
But also in its invisible genotype.
Differ she did but only in her mitochondrial DNA.
Her birth did open a new portal,
Now pet lovers get their pets cloned.
Oct 11, 2019
Oct 11, 2019 at 11:16 AM UTC
I am one to have my emotions under control.
Seventeen years of maneuvering around other’s
Peculiar mood swings
Taught me how to ignore
The chaos of human sentiment.
And so my features remain stoic since.
I have learned how to channel the anxiety
Manifesting itself in a jittery leg, shortness of breath,
And a discordant mind.
It is possible– Quite easy, actually–
To translate a torrent of worry
Into potential energy.
Three years in a closet
Is time enough to collect many pretty dresses
And forget there is ugliness in the world.
As much as I preach the virtue of honesty,
Lying has become second nature,
If only to keep these shark-infested waters
Calm for one more day.
I ought to be devoid of sentiment by now,
As much of a shell as that detestable Louisa Bounderby.
However, I recently found myself mistaken;
I am not a product of Utilitarianism.
Recently, I’ve been feeling–
Oddly ill.
With a loss of appetite,
A churning stomach herbal tea cannot alleviate,
Difficulty sleeping,
And a racing heartbeat.
These symptoms are purely somatic
And therefore, quite frustrating.
I met a girl last week;
I wonder if I caught it from her.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
On weekdays,
privatised ******* trucks
disguise our secret fascinations
and shift the scraps
of our failed dinners
into piles of decomposing waste.
Welcome to the city,
there are buses on the hour.
Better grab a seat before
coffee stained tattoos
covered by sweaty rags
absorb up all the loneliness.
Where do they all go to?
Who eats all the bludgeoned bodies?
Oh, book the saturated dinner table tonight.
I feel like saturation.
In the weekends, somatic mutations
reveal themselves, for if I,
speak, like, I can speak,
then I am not speaking to anyone
save for the flowers. Oh, so
hurray, the garden blossoms again!
But I mean, in the end, I maintain I am
writhing like a centipede in a dryer,
tumbling between hot air, screaming
“Help me! Help me! Where
has the humanity gone?
I cannot even capitalise
first names! You must forgive
my lack of morals!”
“Hello”
“I am here!”
“Hello?”
“I am here!”
“Hello!”
“I am here!”
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
Defunct delightful fruits noir
The sacrosanct pheromone of death
Garnishing Hells credence table
Quailled hem and haw sate
Ilk a slew of paper tigers
With a keen prosaic veneer
Consuming vittle of Gaia
Ravishing ichor like dancing water
Spurning a chimerical somatic
Catharsis as creaking doors hang
The longest watching satorial
Flowers wilt nascent by
Tactiturn vespers.
ELEETE J MUIR.
Jun 19, 2012
Jun 19, 2012 at 4:22 AM UTC
Balancing at the presipice
On life's downward slope
Prentice of success
Ignoring of cues
Enveloped in pain
Somatic failure
The blow of hindsight
Faltering expectations
Drenched in fear
Fruition of average
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 4:43 PM UTC
Listen to me!
I cough out my tales of woe!
I'm so hurt!
I'm so terribly low!
Blow me up,
With your pipe and your cup,
Give me the stuff,
So I can forgive you and away I'll go,
I act like I can't hear you,
It's the only pass-time I enjoy!
Toss and turn as if you don't know,
Don't play coy,
With me,
I'll smack you into next week,
By then you'll have resolved yourself!
Amphetamines!
THC Dreams!
Smash this bottle!
Drown in whiskey!
Killer combinations eat me time after time.
I made it all up in my head,
So I could afford some counterfeit meds!
Pocket pills,
My own free will,
For my psycho-somatic need to ****
The painless solution,
Found at the bottom of an alcoholic potion!
We are addicted to a lie!
Begging for another chance to say "Goodbye!"
And I know now there's no wrong or right,
Tie your lips to a stem and watch it ignite!
And we'll scream,
Amphetamines!
THC Dreams!
Smash this bottle!
Drown in whiskey!
It's like we live for nothing,
Pretend to **** yourself,
So you'll feel like something,
Break some hearts just to know you can,
Those pills in your pocket will make you fly before you land!
If you haven't noticed.
There's nothing wrong with you.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 1:40 PM UTC
Similar but unidentical primers used,
To amplify the same gene
But from different organisms,
And the consequences are again
Similar but not identical.
A useful technique it is
As the genetic code
Itself is degenerate,
Meaning several different
Codons code for the same
Amino acid.
Different organisms
Are allowed this way
To have unique genetics
For highly similar proteins.
We use degenerate primers as well,
When designing is based
On protein sequences
Because of unknown
Codon sequences.
Them we may use
For resurrecting extinct animals
And play God.
It's already happening,
The beautiful Pyrenean Ibex,
Also known as the Bucardo,
Hunted down to extinction,
In past not so distant,
Was brought back to life.
The science used was biotechnology,
Degenerate primers and another
Technique known as SCNT,
Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer,
Used in synergy to bring the ibex back.
Nov 1, 2019
Nov 1, 2019 at 12:48 AM UTC
Whilst licking the salt from the niche
betwixt thumb and index
my eyes tilt into
your mutually skewed gaze
Your tongue grazes
your fleshy recess in unison.
Escapade gleaned
From occipital across
somatic plane
Wanton brow flourish
signs antic invitation
Insistence consortia encodes
in labyrinthine circling hips
Rushing urgency surges in acknowledged wake
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
I dream about her and see
a metamorphosis beneath
the ****** woad
I dream about her after falling
into a bed that has held the shape
of my irregular body
I dreamed about her
She is the only morning star and too
the black caterpillar in dye
below the leaves
Does her repose animate me?
I think and think I do
the thought extending to my limbs
somatic skin and the receptors in
my eyes appraising the world
In every moment of sleep and dream
where I could be awoken
from the impairment of unconsciousness
there were moments of sleep
where I did not dream and
the butterfly was not me
Oct 14, 2011
Oct 14, 2011 at 2:22 AM UTC
the day is new
so let’s not break it
I tell myself to triumph
every single time I trip
and there is no one there to hold me
but it’s a fall from grace with a view
with time and space for thought
and so I spend it on you
the day is new
you hurt me last night
and it is out of my memory
you maimed my thighs again
with the flowers I bought for you
you tried strangling me this time
and I thought it could finally be true
that this is how love feels like
the day is new
and so I sit here in comfort
wearing a sweater as always so no one sees
sipping a coffee pretending to be me
I make up lists in my head
to prevent me from going insane
for fear that I might like this
for fear that I might not run
who was that from before?
the day is new
and this is me
surely my pain is sorely somatic
I’ve heard my senses call me psychotic
but there is no war inside my head
there’s just me
screaming on the television with my sockets at my cheeks
sunken within me I fade
until a new day begins
the day is new
you told me so yourself
you taught me to forgive and I did
you taught me penance and I perceived it to be
my sole purpose and the sole remedy that will save me
before I go insane
the day is new
we play darts with knives and we’re neck to neck again
winner takes all
it’s been our tradition ever since the fall
how could I possibly need somebody so much?
why am I still here?
no, you taught me to never question
the day is new but you are a staple in my life
one that I could never live without
I’m stuck with stilts on solid ground
the day is new
sometimes I wish the day will never end
the day is new
maybe it’s time we stop the play pretend
the day is new
the room is spinning
the curtains are falling
the windows apart
a distant sweet churning
the sound of your heart
maybe it’s chaotic
but maybe it calms me
the sound of wares crashing
threats thrown again
the day is new
but these habits stay the same
the day is new
so overused it’s nauseating
I double down on this disastrous misery
who am I to call you a fiend?
I’m no villian yet not quite angel again
the day is new
I dispose of yesterday’s prey
and reload
for today’s new hunting and today’s new game
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 2:56 AM UTC
In this moment,
we are all together.
In this moment,
we are healing.
In this moment,
we release our selves
Flesh bodies sizzle
cadmium red rhythms--
thunder gourdes rumble
as everyone shouts cobalt lightning!
A few stand quietly, hands
prancing in the air feeding the one
in the center of the circle a steady diet of colors.
Drums bubble & thump beat primal heart screams--
yipps & mews & prrrrr's
fill the Shipibo patterned room.
Joyous dancing scorches the floor,
tension falls away like the clothes
of lovers laying atop each other under the bed.
Here I sit,
at home amidst the somatic chaos sounds
chanting magic storm-wolf tones,
pounding away on bongos
patter-pitter jitterbug swing jungle vine jazz
as my body rocks forth and back
mountain lion paw hands tap crystals
red eagle wings flap smiles
navy ****** tail slaps bass
brown snake-eyes snap out of reality!
In this moment,
we are all together.
In this moment,
we are healing.
In this moment,
we release our selves
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 11:26 PM UTC
Write in stanzas. Think in stanzas.
Speak in stanzas. **** your routine.
Sleep less. Go to work drunk.
Yell at inanimate objects. Yell with
inanimate objects. Fly your mother to
San Francisco (coach) and watch the
house for her, the dogs, the child, the
drunk. She is your mother.
You do not like your job. Spend
your days beneath an apple tree and
spend your workdays eating apples
in any given weather. Lie on the floor
of your bedroom belly-flat and smell
the carpet beneath you, all dead flakes
of skin and dog fur, sinew strand of
hair, black dots—tar or shoe-gum or
something other.
Think on your place. Reach to the left,
your side table with glass of water and
lampshade. Feel the hilt, small knife for
your pocket, small pocket. Free the blade,
feel the grooves, gold and blacked-brushed
blade you bought with a flask, a set, two
tiny commodities that may serve you well
in the wild or a shopping mall, what ever
little evils exist away from your bedroom
with its television and soft blankets, slow
mortal shuffle and modicum.
Stop and breathe. Feel the heart in its
always-patter. Know it will stop.
Not fret, no, only knowing.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 11:26 PM UTC
He gets drunk
She sits home drunk
Boy was too young to understand
Girl cannot forget
Mother lies vulnerable
No break from the cycle
Bellowing with rage
Inconsequential arguments
Degrading and humiliating
Somatic defilement
Girl can only hide in fear
To see it or not makes no difference any longer
She can only cry and take more pain
He leaves
She surrenders once more
Girl has to be strong
Tries to help her mother
Her body's given up for the day
I go to bed and hope
With all my heart
Father will not return
We will live through another day
Were the cycle to break
Let it be by his absence
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 2:53 AM UTC
Tonight, we tipped the scales.
The ones hidden between our emotions.
the ones embossed in our actions.
Weighted more or less with each choice of word or sliding of our hands;
Sometimes we longed to push them to see how far they'd go without tipping.
Sometimes we expected nothing,
but often times we saw that the wager made, out weighed itself so that the price of humility was more than enough to pay for the price of romance.
A brush of your hand against my arm, my voice hanging on the rim of your ear.
the smile of your face as I rubbed my thumb against your tear.
With each new dare we gave ourselves, we found ourselves out numbered by the emotions we bare.
Love, desire, a sense of passion cooled by blankets that serves as feudal resistance to the inferno inside, because the war we waged could turn a nuclear winter into a spring day.
the only price to pay was for a somatic spell.
sparing no time, knowing our conscious is guilty of our crime
we said it
nothing sounded more decadent
Than the thought that tonight we decided.
Lets change this.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC
I was merely a speck of vitality
When I observed you all helpless inside a chanted yet broken record
Of conventionality rather than equality
Your ignorance, something I will never be able to afford
Perhaps I attempted to create my own forked tongue,
Succumbing to the toxicity of your belief that love cannot be reciprocated between
a certain two, who,
Despite your concern about the somatic,
Still fight to choose what makes them ecstatic
In fact you are in no place to voice such a strident stance,
When you do not have the slightest familiarity in the feeling of home being brought straight into your hands,
The feeling no type of discouragement could ever destroy:
Home as if it were after years and years away among the people of Troy
In some nights I could feel the loud beating of my heart so erratic,
And in some I found time seemed to stretch on longer than I would favour
But all I had to do was look into her eyes which were beyond cinematic
To be reminded of why these were the moments I would later most savour
I found it within my nature to stick the
debris that was a product of your odium
Into the the depths of my being, even beside my need for sodium
As a result I have outgrown multiple layers of skin,
After which my metamorphosis will begin
And at once without any resistance, I took flight towards the sky,
Because they often said the sky is the limit, I wondered why
And as I escaped into the realm of the pleasant unknown,
I had made the decision that this was the only measure of contentment I was to condone
Finally
Finally
Finally
I am free and most importantly, I am me
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 10:16 PM UTC
For you my art becomes somatic.
For you it melds asomatous and adroitness.
My oeuvre is intended for you
and so I bestow with the invisible ink,
of the mind that only you see,
the precious words thick with dreams
and hidden meanings.
L'œuvre de la Nuit
Showcased to an audience of only one
At 3am whilst the world waits on the sun.
Inspired by a masterpiece
My work has only just begun.
And we’ve many more sunset to dawns
To layer my ardor many times over
On your heart.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 1:43 AM UTC
Software won't scrap the user,
and trash won't toss the consumer.
When first made amenable,
then loved 'til resentable,
it's pitiful to be the toomer.
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 11:12 PM UTC
rigor eros braids our fingers together
sealing our hands, palm crushed to palm
inhaling your breath as you exhale mine
ravenous eyes devour all before them
rhapsody reverberates from hearts and walls
never ending thirst drives us always on
draining the sweet, deep red cup of libido
with fever induced voluptuous draughts
driven beyond the delirium of voracity
we ricochet off boundaries of carnality
lungs heated to ignition by bodies racing
to keep pace with limitless appetence
minds consumed by hearts desire
insensate to wounded and broken flesh
love’s voice shouts in deafening collision
time coils around consummation’s aura seeking us
we are hidden between a kiss and apogee
unchained from the somatic world
locked together in amaranthine embrace
ecstasy overwhelms mortality
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 12:11 PM UTC