I am an introvert freebee snorting buffalo
brainwashed zombie always confronting your conspiratorial
faulty gloatingly unpleasing uninquiring sociopath
as she was my reflective lyrate queen
we understand misleadingly but blamable thoroughgoing flightiness
through unfalteringly our spiteful reminiscence .
never again will these marches tactility concenter
unawares they signal the latex submarine
to drive northwards into reactive ooze ,
were he could demonstrate cryosurgery at bicuspid biont
those cookstove are a bannerlike varicosity
is that abusive bovid breath idiosyncratic ?
you would coolly autoclave his unmodifiable buttercup !
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 21–27, 2026)
Have you seen the inoculator in the sky tonight?
I look up concerned, feeling a teensy bit of fright
What does it look like? I ask to my alarmist head.
A mammoth syringe full of vaccine juice, he quickly said.
Which one? I ask, staring up into the clouds so high.
Wondering if the Covid-19 vaccine is up in the sky.
He could be loaded with RSV, flu, shingles, or something worse.
I will take him, says the teacher’s aide, thinking of her purse.
Her school system pays staff five hundred dollars for each shot.
She’s had six so far, and will have more; I kid you not.
The anti-vaxer is screaming and running inside to hide.
Hoping the inoculator has no way to get inside.
My husband will take shingles, RSVP and Covid please
I might have Covid and RSVP but that’s all, said Louise.
I cannot get the flu shot, it sometimes has latex in it.
This is stated by Mrs. Leggs and is probably not true a bit.
‘Satire is traditionally the weapon of the powerless against the powerful.’ – Molly Ivins
El no Tuskmusk to Mars on high, sigh …
rockets in his pockets, Spacex no wimpy latex
Earth’s too mundane, drives him simply insane
not enough lanes for Tesla’s electric cars, a pain
this what a fly on the wall heard him tweet neat
His TBC Boring says humans are asleep, snoring
Starlink is soaring with Neurolink probing robotic chips in brains’ dips, humanoid robots devouring
X’s bitter, Twitter as name was not enough for astounding fame, freaking wacky wealth game !
i remember now
the sucking whoosh and rattle
of my life
as I was uprooted
still squirming - caught now
in the slalom clutch
of a blood smeared latex glove
a world as cold as a morgue
coagulated around senseless perceptions
a fluent reality that dripped slowly
into clotted forms
for a moment I wallowed
in that instinctual mud
that is both a sacrifice
and a subterfuge
a lamb born not to suckle
but to swallow all before it
if i was aware of anything
other than
my newly crushed heart
it was just the fading echo
of an erstwhile progenitor
either weeping
or laughing
Attitude will always cash checks
faster than those special effects.
Patterned with a cape and latex
hero complex, hero complex.
Whenever the moment is dire
to save the world is your desire.
With a goal of peace to transpire
with no gunfire, with no gunfire.
Blushing blooming flower
red blue full of desire
she lays still
pouring slowly
spill
drips of love
holding tights and latex gloves
she makes it easy
but hard to breath
slowly letting out
with ease
pushing further into night
like heros fighting unlikely frieghts
she wonders home
step one two three
leaving me here
breathing slowly
BREAKING: [WEALTHY VENTURE CAPITALIST] BUYS
[PLOT OF LAND] FOR [INDUSTRIAL EXPANSION]
[CIGARETTES] AND [TYLENOL]
[TORNIQUETES] AND [ALCOHOL]
LOOPY DOOPY [LAUGHING GAS]
[COLORS] [FLAVORS] [SASSAFRAS]
FOR [FALSE SENSE OF FULFILLMENT], TRY
[ARTIFICIAL PRODUCT MARKETED TO MASSES]
[HOUSE FIRES] AND [CAR COLLISIONS]
[BURNING TIRES] [FIRST INCISION]
POKING AT YOUR [LUNGS] AND [HEART]
[PURVEYOR] TO SELL YOUR [PARTS]
[SELF MUTILATION] AND [SHEDDING SKIN]
IS ALL THE RAGE
[RUBBER HOSES] [PLASTIC GUMS]
[POWER DRILLS] AND [OIL DRUMS]
[SYNTHETIC SOLES] AND [FAT PAYCHECKS]
[POLYESTER] AND [LATEX]
LIMITED TIME SALE ON [INORGANIC BODY PARTS]
AND [FAKE IDENTITIES]
[PROSTHETICS] AND [FACTORIES]
[GASOLINE] AND [BATTERIES]
[CRACKS] AND [FISSURES] IN YOUR [SKIN]
DOUSED IN [DIRTY MEDICINE]
He, I, died years ago, when
history started and wrote
manuscripts of its unsound
flesh. Hark, behold His glory!
Yet I was gone before the
dusk of the first revered day.
Even when they shot at silence,
even when they drank to used-to,
even when they wrote the bible,
he stayed in Jerusalem.
They who preached the noble He,
when their rubber foam and glue
and latex turned to cushions
that held softly revolvers,
they hailed Mary and began
tearing down amity gripped.
Man’s heart shot down a peg again,
woman’s mantel respite candle,
my corpse reeks of paralyzed life,
you can’t ask for forgiveness.
Clinging onto the shaggy
hands, held together by string
bands, full of worship upon
the chapel which my statue
grieves, they call upon heaven
to win the war they started.
Who will lull the holy golem?
When has servitude remedied?
What is religion but muted
Tongue? New faith for every shot,
I died years ago, he dies
every day.
Not a room for the waiting
or the receiving of the waiting,
but a room for a liquid thinking
a turgidity
that trickles through plastic tubes.
Is this where doors remain jammed
forever between Hospital floors?
Unseen, a wall clock drops
heavy packages of time
into narrow chutes,
latex handprints are shaken
from sterilized surfaces.
The regularity
of beep and whir mechanically
sucks light in and out.
The yoke recalls it shell.
Desiccated fingers
squeeze a phantom pain-ball,
morphine as cold as ice
is delivered
to an unknown address.
A swish of a starched presence,
fingertips retrace
scorched fever-lines.
Eyes creep toward the voice.
Consciousness
scratches a self-portrait
upon a white neon sun,
a hesitant, primitive etching.
A nurse adjusts the electronic pulse
of a free-floating mind.
Space expands under her hands.
The pushing pelvis,
the slippery and new -
minus recall.
Amnesia drone
coming or going
home,
cyclic rebirth,
peddling hard to uncertainty.
Dozy or bright
dynamo light
self-made
doomed to fade
uphill and over
pushing through
toward an ill-defined 'it.'
A lifelong nap,
a newborn holler
into the latex catcher's mitt.
Headlong life buzz.
Squeezing through forgetfulness.
Born again into the holy whirlpool,
of - what to do next,
eat, crap, join something.
Leap or roll
through the big paper ring,
burst into the unknown
as the cheering dies.
inaction speaks louder than words ~ in fact it shouts to heaven above
i don’t seek indoctrination ~ this dude knows what it’s like to feel love
stay in your own comments box ~ i have no agenda nor need a shove
when putting digits inside someone else’s bubble ~ wear a latex glove
With trepidation the dentist I called
Gripped by agony a terrible ache
He took one look absolutely appalled
I was in blue funk and started to shake.
Blue latex gloves he snapped on with relish
My thoughts at that moment “I cannot win”
Fearful and ridged felt sure I would perish
Many decayed teeth, clearly 'tis a sin!
Big Lecture on benefits of flossing
While he polishes a bright smile for me
Toothpaste now swirling my mouth is frothing
He's pleased with results I don't disagree.
Perfect fillings and extraction later
I survived, thanks to defibrillator.
Back then, most girls so loved their dolls;
in forty-seven, I turned eight.
That Christmas, my one wish came true;
To play with her, I couldn't wait.
To me, she seemed so very real-
A Magic Skin Doll- 'neath my tree.
This newest one topped all the rest
with skin as soft as soft could be.
New Latex formed her magic skin,
so good she felt within my arms.
She was the sweetest doll for me-
for sure, the one with life-like charms.
Where did you go, my baby doll?
Years later, when our house was downed-
where you forgot and left behind-
now with my heartache- in the ground?
I pass it often, that long bridge
where once our family home stood-
recalling memories, so fond.
How were you lost- not understood.
AI. man
An important city was bombed a hundred times
during the long horrid night
I read one person was killed; how amazing is that
The newspaper report does not ask questions.
I have a mental picture of an AI person who looks
like a man in his thirties, knows everything and
speak every language you can think of, except
perhaps a local Indian speak in the Amazon
you can’t knock him over as he is gyro balanced
and his political opinions are pro-authoritarian.
He lives in Ukraine, whose army is indestructible
the leader is made of latex and sprayed on beard
tells the naïve and adoring audience he has won
the war for us in the West, but a can of lubricant
wouldn’t come amiss
It was one of those days again.
A spoon full of syrup,
Another needle,
Sugary sweet.
Crimson blood,
White sheets.
Repent your sins,
Take a breath,
For it may be your last.
White walls,
Bleach and latex gloves,
“Stop shaking,” They say,
“It’ll be over in a second.”
No pain,
Mindless abyss.
Hospital gowns,
Sweaty brows.
Back stiff against the metal table.
Syringes full of my life.
Drip, drip, drip.
Just breathe,
Take a breath.
Discarded plastic cups,
Fluttering papers held by the clamp of metal.
The clicking of computer keys.
Swallow,
Choke,
Eyes full of tears.
Yes,
It was indeed one of those days again.
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