I live trapped in a basket of predators,
their skulls crammed with futile idleness.
They celebrate misery like a morbid feast,
with the suicidal arrogance of heirs to nothingness.
The flames of humanity have burned away
in the abyss of their barren souls.
They worship the anarchy of weapons,
I see nothing but fields of ruins.
Their battles are the masquerades of capital,
poverty spreads across the Earth like a plague,
and the closeness of deprivation becomes a nightmare.
I spit upon their rotten idols,
those false sanctities with profaned orifices.
I have piled up sins to taste the ecstasy of raw freedom.
Born from the wounded entrails of the Third World,
I refuse to bow before the putrefaction of consumerism.
Free from the origin, yet prisoner of a banana republic
delivered to the savage plunder of predatory empires.
I fight my demons in the trenches of the mind
to adorn my reality with fleeting mirages of this convulsive world.
They consign me to the dungeons of their alienation,
but I rise, insurgent against their servitude.
The humble cook
Once upon a time, a cook was a person who prepared food for hungry people, simple food like meat cakes in gravy and boiled potatoes
one needed not to be a genius, but the person knew how to fry eggs or scrambled eggs
could read and write in order not to mistake rat poison for garlic powder
It was a whole profession, like being a butcher
a baker, house painter, or a barber
Times have changed in occupations like these, and something
more is expected, like art? Are you serious
The cook is now a chef, highly paid for transforming
food into a work of art on a plate to let taste buds run
amok, should you eat the food and not take a photo
of the dish, hang it on the wall, food/art made by
a famous chef who has lent his name to other things
and is now a millionaire, often appearing on TV
Should you find a hair fallen off a beard or some other orifices, wrap it in plastic, and sell it on eBay?
Small orifices pulsate in our palms,
radiating intense magnetic heat
and whilst mind is calm and heart has no qualms,
presence beholds the fontanel upbeat,
as sublime bliss beats therein too repeat.
It is what it is, this silent thunder,
rapture bursting forth from deep down under,
so who’d complain when ego’s being slain,
as grace in-pours, gripping us in wonder,
signalling our life’s not been spent in vain.
Is there anybody out there
I can only see my face in the forefront preflection
Of the passed, away on vacation until all comes cross
Is she really on the page or on the screen an AI model
Stockings stocking to no avail
Preferably a real lady, married, a couple of kids, nah
He enters the mainstream understanding orifices procession
Pro to nothing concrete all absolutes don't exist
Clean and not heard
The genius in him should talk to the mirror
Instead of a gun shot plying the thought of Gmail account
Accessible bypass crude
Why sense the tasteful callipyge stragglers told too
In her scent he can find a thousand Dani Daniels Krissy Lynn Jane Marie, she'd just another troubadour old fantasy
Reality overweight overwhelms filly folly breads hvvgfnbdg
*** VV bukkake Bukowski travels by and nothing taken for granted Lego logorrhée Times Square sexshop where a dude speaks East Timorian does it really count what the guy said on the corner of the contents of the wall Pao chicken breast
You intertwine your vitality with your hands,
Your spirit is not determined by destiny,
Esprit is a lanky voyage
Vitality is too short
Be sure there are no griefs,
Be sure to ratify missteps,
Be sure to endorse downfalls
I'm wandering along the aisle,
Full of boulders and gravel,
Full of obstructions
Full of up-downs,
I discover fantasies with my orifices,
I attempt to execute my pursuits along the path,
Vigor is too short
It's okay to weep
It's okay to fear
Glimpse into yourself,
There are clues to your dilemmas,
Life is speculative
Quell possession in yore,
I'm scrambling ahead in my existence,
Residing every eternity,
Carving new remembrances
I desire upon my shining star in the sky,
One day, to be one of the stars to glimmer in midnight
-Aira
Longing
by Michael R. Burch
We stare out at the cold gray sea,
overcome
with such sudden and intense longing . . .
our eyes meet,
inviolate,
and we are not of this earth,
this strange, inert mass.
Before we crept
out of the shoals of the inchoate sea,
before we grew
the quaint appendages
and orifices of love . . .
before our jellylike nuclei,
struggling to be hearts,
leapt
at the sight of that first bright, oracular sun,
then watched it plummet,
the birth and death of our illumination . . .
before we wept . . .
before we knew . . .
before our unformed hearts grew numb,
once again,
in the depths of the sea’s indecipherable darkness . . .
When we were only
a swirling profusion of recombinant things
wafting loose silt from the sea’s soft floor,
writhing and sucking in convulsive beds
of mucousy foliage,
flowering,
flowering,
flowering . . .
what jolted us to life?
Keywords/Tags: life, evolution, love, desire, longing, passion, lust, sex, sexuality, relationship, chemistry, biology, hormones, appendages, orifices
Trumpets blared from orifices hidden
Awaiting his doom, the prince was bidden
To enter the dark hole of all things unknown
Suppressing a shriek, he unplugged his phone
Unlike the robin caring for her young
weaving a nest of affection
sitting sentry, perched on pale-blue eggshells
nourishing new-hatched fledglings
her joy as worms whirl down
their cavernous, yearning orifices...
A woman's tender love for her young
deepens as calendar pages turn
blossoming in Spring, flourishing in Summer
~ her nestlings long-departed ~
thriving in Autumn, yet vibrant through Winter
Auburn swirls of wind-laden leaves
coast to the cleat-torn orifices
of soggy, mud-clung grass.
That massed flapping pile time capsule
of summer sunsets is crushed with entering steps
like the rusting rain refrain.
A shorn sheep freezes from dusk until dawn,
following a downward descending path,
tattered and weather worn.
Stepping stone pieces beneath our feet
beat against earthen clay
like the rusting rain refrain.
Stammering to speak for apathy's tragedy,
words are heard like Braille to a layman,
as tin roof dripping resounds loudly
for failure to embrace its sloping surface.
September's sobs streak down beauty's cheeks
like the rusting rain refrain.
A farewell feast of forbidden wheat
bloats our bellies into swells, stirring grief.
Playtime is rushed to sleep with resistance,
as cinderblock thoughts toss and turn
until drifting becomes corroding numbness
like the rusting rain refrain.
lets double
check our gear
heavy duty
helmet topped with
a light an underneath
chin strap as well as
a body
harness
check
at least fifty yards of
rope with ten pitons
each and as many
carabiners comfortable
for one to
carry
check
now gather round
and take a look at
where we're hoping
to climb and yes i know
we are known as spelunkers
but this is more an orifice trip
it seems there is some
dissent about our descent
i assure you some of these
orifices are seemingly endless
dangerous but satisfying so by
a show of hands how many are we
just me
i see it's that
way that no one
truly wants to explore
just to stay safe and do the
usual two minutes in then out
but i i'm
going to give
her a go simple
foreplay in the shallows
of her bellybutton surely
to be taken in by the sheer
awe of
the unknown
but a sense of
fleshy familiarity yet
not knowing the feeling
of loneliness but that of being one
In my mind somber sorties unfold
When morbid movements scar a hundredfold.
Normalcy dead, transparency scared
Empathy bearded, intransigence endeared.
In my mind sordid scenes grow cold
When vulnerable voices no longer hold.
Brash brands undead, harsh hustles prepared
Phantom forces deployed, evil enamels ensnared.
In my mind torrents of tears no longer dry
Victory vessels victimize, vile victuals bereft of shame fly.
Flies on excrement multiply, sties of scorn sniggle
Spies of blame bloom, pies of putrefaction giggle.
In my mind orifices and offices of ordure spy
Voices of Hades hustle, choices of straitjackets sigh.
Worms of wilderness sparkle, whiffs of death dodge
Squids of insanity soar, weeds of vanity splurge.
Suns soft sensual soaking silhouette
slowly sneaks silently the silky skin
Oppulent orifices ooze olive sweat
Reprising rhythmic rouge romance akin
Saturated salt smelling skin spilling
frothy fragrant fire ferociously
Capricious calm converts to cool chilling
Precipitation paid precociously
Heartwarming henotic humble heat haunts
harmed human hearts hypnotized happily
Gleaming glowing glare gravitating taunts
of liquid love long lost unhappily
Precious precocious sunshine come hither
Need your lava lifeblood not to wither
3/13/2018
Impaled embers forsook
damp crevices elongated
wide orifices inhale poised
pain wrapped in prideful
Splendor.
Sprint gallantly, reform
denying absorbed death
exhaling hope anew
evermore proved extreme
Brillance.
Spread wide softly,
overtake righteous screams
whisper mist appear brightly
Resilient.
Acquiescence of aquifer is acquiring an antelope's antennae but antennas are nit aerial so never cook a salted marsh for a meal. With or without chips. Dippy demonstrated design. Whilst the organisational orifices officially ordered oranges. Lovely. Lots and lots of pips. But no pillows. Aqueous cream is best for moisturising and conditioning curtains but curtains are neither closed nor open on a ship so go into boards like a bounding bouncy body of boing. Oh! Rabbit then? No. Why no? Because leftover leaps are meals made by a raja radius and some information may not always be an inclination on a curve dive of Aguinaldo hijab wearing wrestler at the shop. And to the point is to the pout and spouts are silently stripped. Not striped. Stripped. Saintly stoically sold small smiles. And the dutiful snuff box both bothered and bothering is a type of new found tie pin. Z integrationally Z at thirty five little cute cups to kudos pf twenty two minus eighty. Z
Bleeding for you without knowing why
Looking at you with jewled eyes crossed
What is this voilatal vital need
I cant sleep
This craving kills
As i am being slowly dug out of the ground
All that healing gambled with
No wonder the mirror wont show me who i
really am
What could u see?
A dramatic fool drowning in his own orifices
Why am i here?
What madness makes me,
unmakes me
What a totaled world im from
What grandois pplots of escape all smothered
by loves feathery ball and chain
Living this lie each day
Wearing my 1000 pound armor
Living no longer wanting just to exist
Made enraged upon the steps of this cosumerist
temple that is america
Freedom a term utilized repetively double talked
as they flood the population with the worst of
drugs
And i cant look at my own eyes so how can i
look into yours
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