"tapeworm" poems
Eggs, eggs, toss them high in the air
Catch em, and gargle, and mash them, and swear
Eat them with shells, eat them with sauce
Eat them with bags, eat them with moss
Eggs, eggs, between sandwich bread
That's what the wise elderly miller had said
Before came the bomb and he had dropped dead
Before being poisoned by a surplus of lead
And then came a centipede, long and sanguine
And bit a small child, so recently weaned
Off the protein derived from his mother's fine eggs
So he had to start munching on his mother's fine legs
"Be warned" said the Miller, his hair all askew
While dousing his wounds with mountains of glue
A tapeworm emerged, and looked toward the sky
Feeling envy toward all the birds that could fly
But the Miller was quicker, even in old age
He smacked the worm soundly, in a manner enraged
Bruised from the damage, and covered in glue
The worm turned away from the sky that was blue
Never with pelicans would he fly with delight
Never with owls would he soar through the night
For all Darwin's cruelty, an injustice rings
Tapeworms simply have no need for wings
So he bit the old Miller, and laid ten thousand eggs
They hatched and devoured his liver and legs
And as the man writhed, waiting to die
He vomited upward, up toward the sky
The tapeworm went flying, up toward the clouds
The air felt exhilarating, the rushing wind loud
For once in his life, he soared with the birds
Then in came a swallow, and bit off a third
His body, segmented, fell in parts to the ground
Tears seeped from his eyes, his face in a frown
From the ground he gazed up into the ominous fog
Before being lapped up by an unlucky dog
The End
Jan 19, 2013
Jan 19, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC
O pulchritudinous, for infinite climaxes
For bilious spasms of pigswill
For puce Popacatepetl pedigrees
Above the perverted pampas!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk, from brothel to gay red—light district
O pulchritudinous, for spaceman bottoms
Whose **** throbbing tapeworm
A toucan crossing for slipperiness spifflicate
Across the intergalactic space!
America! America! Allah enrich thine ev’ry vice
Reinvigorate thy ****** *********** inside monolithic ectoplasm, thy merrymaking inside pyramid!
O pulchritudinous, for freaks got fat
In disentangling feeding frenzy
Who more than ***** their brothel slobbered over
And velvet glove more than backbone!
America! America! May Allah thy blonde exhaust
Till all rave reviews be disreputableness and ev’ry come superhuman
O pulchritudinous, for chauvinist muscleman
That smells wide of the fourth dimension
Thine lathery brothels lick
Polished using giant armadillo excrement!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk from brothel to gay red—light district
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 5:22 PM UTC
It all feels like a craft of love,
a tight fit in my eyes naked views
A beautiful body of work,
grinding my gears to a halt,
At a place of it being wore out in perfection,
the once new smell, becomes as creased
as my socks.
But even with its imperfections,
the painting still manages to wiggle
its way into my heart, leaving a lasting
impression that I can't shake.
It's like a tapeworm inside of me,
recording every beat of my heart and
every thought in my mind.
I try to pull it out, but it's no use.
The painting has become a part of me,
a part of my soul that I can't let go of.
And even though it brings me pain at times,
I can't help but smile. It's like a silly game
that I can't resist, a game that brings me joy
and laughter even in the darkest of times.
So I'll keep it close to my heart, like a knife in my mouth,
ready to cut open a crack of a smile whenever I need it most.
Nov 2, 2023
Nov 2, 2023 at 3:08 PM UTC
Don't be
A mole.
I hate moles.
They burrow
And
Scavenge
And
Live in the
Dark.
Thats just
What you did
To my heart.
You burrowed
Deep,
Down to the center.
You set up camp.
And I didn't know
You were a mole.
I thought maybe you were
A
Straw,
To ****
Bad things
Out.
So I kept you warm
And waited calmly for the
Bad stuff to
Dissapear.
But I realized
That
You were a
Magnifying glass,
To emphasise
My flaws
And you were
A
Seam-ripper
To
Pull the patches
From where
I had already healed,
To make the scabs
Bleed
Again.
And I thought you were
A
Jigsaw
And you were broken
So I could fix you
And put you
Together.
Like a
Vase,
Easily
B
r
o
k
e
n.
And
Then
You left me.
Like a
Tooth
Full of
Cav it ies.
That
Space
Next
To
My heart
No longer full.
And you
Didn't depend on me,
No longer a tapeworm.
I miss you.
Like
You
Were
Mine.
But you were
Never
Mine.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 9:06 PM UTC
best days better left behind bereft of joy
fighting in vain for fleeting fulfillment
instead seeping bile from punctured
***** appendix found septic too late
even still now hungry for real life like
stomach tapeworm eating purpose
lost along the way now empty, grey
when did time get away from us all
leaving bitter little paisan us's
stripped bare of long dead dreams
like Christmas morning c-section strippers
five dollar bills stuffed in withered *****
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 6:40 PM UTC
they let their sticky humid hands
hold my glitching hologram body
against the scratchy playhouse
walls and drag their clammy
claws where no child should
think to rub all the while
whispering into my vacant ears
how they would beat me and
bite me and cut me and kick me
if anyone were to ever find out
our little game as tapeworm
tears sludged from my sickly
sweet rotting eyesockets and
down my shiny shaking dust
stained cheeks silently over my
cold and closing throat and
when my dad finally ripped the
splintering wooden door across
the sandy shifting floor i was so
pale pink blue i could have been
six hours dead save for my
fracturing porcelain and
plexiglass heart destructive and
bashing and shattering itself
through my frail and brittle
crumbling ribcage whispering to
me how badly my dad would
scream at me for the way we
were playing
Dec 19, 2018
Dec 19, 2018 at 11:08 PM UTC
i'll let you on a little secret... spaniards are gigolos to the slavs... cheap-shit, chinese rolex beauties, which is why the english are prone to vacate there: oiling up to get a quicker suntan than an essex lass turning orange-brown in the space of a weekend's session at a u.v. parlour.
westerners define western slav as cleaner material,
if not simply the plumbers and electricians,
got a blocked toilet? get a pole
to unblock it. but you see... the thing is...
the slavs see the spaniards as
euro-trash... cheap-shit-cancerous-suntan...
spaniards are cheap **** to the slavs...
western european nations (excluding
the germans) invokes a sense of self-worth
that, like a tapeworm feeds of the slavs migrating
without colonising... when the western
powers migrated and colonised,
never really preparing themselves for jihadis,
st. john the decapitating tyrant spoke to st. george's
dragon with a cockney accent:
oi bruv bruv up up mate! score us an eight's worth
of 20 quid!
so while the high tier of europe speaking deutsche anglican
rather than deutsche swiss keep time and
penny flip: carnal heterosexual or just plain ****
the slavs mock the same tier with a choice
of holiday resorts exploited... next to the fake suntan...
because spaniards are like albanians for the slavs...
oiled up cheap-shit material for even cheaper literature
of the handsome, blue eyed, dark haired (well oiled)
stranger... selling pomegranates... that a fair maiden
might succumb to... selling her virginity the fiftieth time.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
Illiterate alliterations
Of Farcical fascinations.
I fancy myself a wordplayer
if not a word-sayer
Though the paper gets far more love than the air
***** what's nearest the toaster oven.
Vile Bile, Jim, by at least 3 miles.
I took the tapeworm from yesterday's sandwich
Gave it to the secretary, who continues to *****
She's a labrador
I'm a matador
You'd be surprised how much bulls ****
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
Sometimes I sense you in my bones
seeping through my marrow,
flitting through my veins,
each footstep in time with a heartbeat.
I know you well.
I have known you well.
At times there is guilt,
stalling your departure
from my life.
Yet, still, I delight.
You are a detriment,
but like a tapeworm
to anorexic,
you are lovely to me in mind.
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 4:10 PM UTC
Four life-size lipsticks jive, they
groove in tune with costumed comrades:
the monstrous tapeworm, unfitting for even
a family of whales, head held high like
homemade dragons on Chinese New Year, or
the bald man decked out in navy felt, garb
saturated with plastic spoons he
needs to get laid.
But the lipsticks in their red, red heels, with
human eyeholes hidden behind fabric, which
shows the blend of castor & chemicals, what hue:
dark crimson or barracuda berry?
They wear but a fraction of the common ingredients
used for dressing up,
makeup as the encore.
It stains the lips,
the coffee rims around the country,
the chests of restricted lovers.
Let us celebrate the metaphor of makeup
on this festus day--where it’s excusable to act out
the fantasies of being not
ourselves.
Dec 25, 2013
Dec 25, 2013 at 6:35 PM UTC
Cow
You got a good cow?
Yeah, this one's got enough shy
Won't overextend her *** onto your tongue.
Yeah?
But she's ready to express.
Donkey
They killed the donkey
who did the donkey work
now the flood cannot be stemmed
too bad the horse is so ill equipped
the donkey work to collapse to plan B:
complacency is asking for it.
Wife
The farmer's wife keeps the trough filled
Her family all feed there, friend too
Hungry ********
She somehow feeds another
via the backdoor.
Red
The rooms all have this red glow
The men degrade themselves
A candle drips hot wax, moaning
Black leather and tasseled whips
Keeping the tapeworm alive.
Backstage
The visionary talks of truth, talks his head off
of hidden things and backstage agenda
There's now a fourth world status
in the back alleys of overcrowded slums
all overdosed on honeyed impressions.
Detour
High castles for preachers and glass houses for the rest
Some contend with deliberate detours to escape
dark dreamers in once rustic countryside towns.
Abstract
Behold the executioner, removes the mask
The plot unravels, poor boy blade in gums
Coerced to perform things, ends in *****
Head in the desert; one jolt and jump away.
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 1:25 PM UTC
The cigarette was trailing down my throat like a ten-inch tapeworm
It was grounded, the bright look she gave.
I projected my disgust onto the rain.
This was my one shot to make a garden.
Jul 27, 2019
Jul 27, 2019 at 10:24 PM UTC
The Flibbertigibbet
Such a ludicrous name, unto you may never have been heard;
But The Flibbertigibbet Demon lives in the land of words.
They hide there in The Thesaurus, in front of our eyes,
Like The Devils spies in paradise.
The bookworm with tapeworm, failed to see The Flibbertigibbet;
But then one day The Bookworm, just happened to come across it.
It stood out from the rest, because it didn’t sound human;
Then I read the description and it simply said Demon.
The demonic disguise, lead to the corruption of the mind.
It is now forever entwined, with the Flibbertigibbet inside.
(C)2011 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 8, 2018
Jun 8, 2018 at 1:44 PM UTC
He was a tapeworm
his sister had a bad perm
sitting on her head,
edge of the bed
in a knife sliced
corridor of light. These thoughts,
that leaned like weak trees
in a cutting breeze.
These thoughts
that we're never straight more
a child's hurricane scribble.
A mental ball of twine collecting clutter
and when the cobra struck
I thought of you
naked,
ready to **** the venom
or offer the antidote.
The misery and turbulence,
the fear of being hunted by the anonymous faces
of a South American meat packing conglomerate.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 3:03 AM UTC
i couldn't care to remember you even if i wanted to
you lying pathetic *****
you cheap son of a *****
you held me close
and peeled through my intestines like a tapeworm
our relationship was parasitic and
it is over now
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 2:22 AM UTC
written while talking to a dear friend, Irene, who i met on my travels to Paris, and who i'm spotted with, in a photograph, by the Moulin Rouge, hunched in homage to Quasimodo, with Paul the wild haired australian.
i'm always depressed before composition
and the first whiskey to
stop me throwing up anything i might
ingest,
but then the seemingly graceless magpie
with its extended tail flies into eyesight,
then the blackbird, the crow, the seagull (huh?!
30 miles inland and a ****** seagull?)...
and then i open my eyes a second time,
take off the eyes that see lust gluttony colours
and shapes, and put on my x-ray spectacles
of looking at a white page and typing for a while...
and then a song crops up and it bothers me,
mortiis' parasite god from the album *the smell
of rain*, if there is such a thing as a parasite god,
we'll be constantly thinking about it,
it will be an ontological implant of ours to
then debate whether we're atheists, theists,
gnostics or agnostics... it would be a burden, indeed
an oversized tapeworm to put it mildly -
but then the other description floating about,
the entitlement of a title, akin to prince, knight,
sir, baron or baroness or even a marquis...
the lord of hosts... and with vain attempt at sounding
in blossom of a magnolia tree attentive of courtesy,
a host is someone who contains a parasite,
why would i want to contain a parasite of thought in
me, that would necessarily sway me from denoting
myself an atheist, theist, etc.?
atheists do indeed uphold the principle stated in this
song i mentioned mortiis' parasite god;
i among the jews a parasite of the host of
ancient egypt;
i mean, they always say they're atheists or whatever,
they want that little sticker at a speed dating gathering
*hello, my name is, queue (oh sorry,
Hugh)*, but when it comes to
defining what sort of thinking defines you as such and
such, it's vaguely satisfying to hear a presupposition label,
followed by a string of even more unsatisfying propositions,
and since i'm not a fisherman in that department,
i think i'll just stick to what i know, or at least what i think i know.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 1:46 PM UTC
WORMS
Hello! Chester here… Missing you so,
A bookworm am I,
Oh, yesss, today just sliding by…
With spectacles on my nose,
I do both poetry and prose.
Want to hear more about me …
And my family…?
So awfully lovely to see you again,
Perhaps a few secrets for you, my friend?
Plump cousins I have in the strangest places,
On blue Stilton cheese are not only their faces…
There’s even a cousin with a thousand little feet…
The shoemaker thinks he’s a treat.
Mostly here somewhere, we always share…
And war seen so many times before,
Just like greedy maggots, ended battles we do adore,
And there is even more…
Not a treat, some worms you never want to meet,
A part of the family is really mean,
Trust me, they're the worst worms you’ve ever seen,
For those eat dead people really clean!
Others just eat wood and all they ever could.
And don’t let me start,
With Mr. Snooks… worming into Miss Prissy’s heart!
Once there was even a tapeworm from a whale,
100 feet long, both sexes… He and She were for sale!
Just like people… large, short, skinny or hairy,
Some worms fancy meat or plants… others dairy.
Seeing ample aggravation… there was an invitation…
And all I have to say today… Now on my way…
To the cemetery without delay,
But I’ll be back, Sweetheart… Someday...
Copyright©2013 Kari M. Knutsen
.
Jan 11, 2015
Jan 11, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
I have been living in the warm womb of solitude
For the past few months of my existence
Enjoying all the numbed emotional experiences my fetus-y form can handle
Feeding off my friends and family to steal their wisdom and words
Stealing their past revelations and independence and growth
Growing pounds like a puppy and gaining inches like a tapeworm
Till my previously battered brain begins to crave
The aches and pains of heartbreak once more
Yearning for the cold, unforgiving air of reality on my newborn skin
After nine months of solitude and twelve weeks of young love
Searching wantonly for the sensations I left behind
Such as the warmth of a girl’s fingers between my own
My mind demands something more rigorous to live through
My mind, a scarred warrior, craves a new challenge
Something for it to be beaten and bloodied and crushed by
Something for it to mourn and learn from and conquer
For you see; the wings within my spine are quivering
They’re rippling with excitement at the thoughts in my head
The thought of finally, finally, finally
Getting back out into the world again
May 20, 2013
May 20, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
From the inside out,
I am being consumed by
an evil tapeworm.
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 5:42 PM UTC
Hello, my name is David Phlegmister. I am much too self-aware. I also have no ******* idea who I am. My intestines twist and turn just like yours. I think I must have a pretentiously metaphorical tapeworm. Everything I do or say is backed by either anger or curiosity, and in spite of this I am somehow not in jail. I try too hard. I don't try hard enough. I care too much but I still don't give a **** I wont tell you I'm hungry even though I havent eaten since yesterday. No, really, it's fine, I'm not hungry.My hands and feet are too big for my body.
Seriously, **** off, I'm not ******* hungry
I drink black coffee and smoke cigarettes but I swear to god I'm not an egotistical existentialist. My mom tells me that I'm too skinny but dont worry I'm not hungry. Smells **** me up.
I can still smell your perfume and I can still smell your *****
Your feelings dont matter because we all die eventually.
Boo hoo, get the **** over it.
Everything you stand for is a lie. God isn't real, your government hates you, status is meaningless.
Jokes on you so **** yourself.
I'm sixteen years old in an Aberdeen-esque hellhole.
I'm a highschool dropout
My old school was a cesspool of AXE body spray and ****** ****
My friends all want to **** themselves and I don't blame them.
I'm an ******* in my own right, but I don't know about yours.
Im still waiting for someone who doesn't have to fix me to love me.
I whine and ***** about whiney ******* and wonder why I hate myself. I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to be a ******
Reality is not, and will not, ever suffice.
It will never satisfy.
Never bring contentedness.
Theres no denying that I will be hooked on whatever unrefined, kidney-raping junk I can get my filthy hands on. Marijuana got boring fast.
I hate routine. I hate sameness. I feel too ******* much so I punish myself for it.
**I AM NOT A ******* PIECE OF ART**
I'm your aborted ******* son.
My fingernails are too short.
I lie to people who care about me
and I don't know if its for
my sake
or theirs.
I'm the elephant in the room of conservative christian right wing baby boomers.
I CANNOT and WILL NOT do what is expected of me.
I don't fit in.
Thank god.
Don't wanna be a starry eyed, brain dead statistic.
Sometimes I don't sleep on purpose just because I don't deserve to.
I don't owe you a ******* thing. I have nothing to prove and nothing to give.
IMNOTHUNGRYIMNOTHUNGRYIMNOTHUNGRY
Feb 2, 2016
Feb 2, 2016 at 6:03 AM UTC
watch'ah watch'ah want? giggles?
you got them... trans-gender males allowing
civil partnerships and all the loss of a taboo prodigy...
the other side of the spectrum you have feminism gorging
on the catwalk motto of 0... yep, with trans-gender males
getting licorice stuffed pillows you deem to call *******
funny thing... those exfoliating breathing apparatus items ****
i forgot the plural, and yes, correct, ascribing
a quality to the **** word, moor adjectives with a sunset)
pairs... now you have feminism on steroids
with girl bodies too taboo for ******
and too into-it with muscular ***** wanks
when fat was **** in painting and
breast-feeding... so one spectrum-end (dual zenith-nadir,
you choose) gets implants...
the other works out with Arnie for a flat
muscular chest that could breast-feed
a tapeworm... but hey! our politics is
a solid ace in poker... we better export this
**** to the middle east and laugh about it...
but i tell you... too prolonged the pyramids'
influence on this region,
had god interfered in the Aztec geography
we'd see no dodo right now
(inclusive of memory and memorable recounts
of the Galapagos shortcrust debriefing
in historical terminology suddenly
inspected suddenly lost
for want of cure so that history isn't
just a deja vu - hubris Gemini hatching
in a tetragrammaton)...
buggers are really keen on proving the sudden
eclipse... that's the global aspect of the plague...
everyone cared for what happened with the sudden
churn of wanting sleep...
and the greatest modern pathos? insomnia...
it's the great utopian counter -
or a lack of interpreting dreams, equating to
"life is meaningless".
lack of freud to be exact, as in:
the only hierarchy in theory is a hierarchic
stance on applicability being vogue -
everything else is hushed or broomed or ushered
into Hades so that utopia is a sinking ship
like Pompeii or Atlantis (Thomas Moore -
or should i write Thomas Morse? cradle for the
blind, a book of Braille for the sight-able
hell-bent to make bureaucracy of obstructions
in a game of noughts and crosses in the playground).
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 11:47 AM UTC
you knew i was fragile but instead of
wrapping me up in tissue paper and gingerly placing me out of harms way
you doused me in lighter fluid, lit a match, turned your back, and walked away
i dont need you to tell me that my body is a temple
my mind is too, stop acting like im simple
the way you speak down to me as if its just your nature
but i am not your ***** and you are not some savior
i want to shape you into some resemblence of a person
i should be thanked, not treated like a burden
i am a girl with hope and love and motivation
i trust that if theres god you could not be his creation
i dont care about your opinions or your family or your town
because you've never acted like its good that im around
i've decided that i'm better than you and your remarks
i am wonderful and interesting and maybe even smart
so **** off with the way you strut your harsh demeanor
you will never be a human, just a parasitic creature
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 2:39 AM UTC
Part of me lives inside her,
Like a parasite of romance and memory;
The part that raises half her mouth when the joke's a specific type of funny,
The part that keeps her eyes locked on an empty inbox,
And the part that gives her boyfriend such a diarrheal aftertaste.
It's a tapeworm of longing and contempt that she's **** good at ignoring, because she turned an empty stomach into business as usual.
But she keeps it anyway, because something about it seems so genuinely human when nothing else can match the feeling.
Because when the jokes, messages, and boyfriends are all gone this little white ******** will still need something from her. It won't go anywhere.
The glamorously empty life of a parasite at the beck and call of something just as beautifully flawed.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
There’s a tapeworm inside me
I’ve tried to get it out for years
everything I put in, it eats up
I tried to drown it with *****
and tire it with no sleep
and cut it out with another’s love
But I’ve realized it will never leave
because once you get your first tapeworm
it stays with you
So I’ve befriended it;
when it’s hungry, I feed him,
when it’s sad, I rock his sorrows in my warm belly
Maybe someday it will leave
but I fear that day
I’ll just begin
growing another inside me
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 12:00 PM UTC
You are the gravity that keeps me on earth
But yet your eyes could contain the cosmos
You gave me tapeworm by the curls in your hair
I have a ****** singing voice but we could make a pretty sweet tune.
My dreams are always black and forgotten
I now wonder if I open my eyes while at rest if I'll see your lips covered in lipstick
Your first name is short of a few syllables
You deserve to be graced with a name that requires remembrance since everything about you is unforgettable
Aug 23, 2014
Aug 23, 2014 at 11:20 PM UTC