bacca bubbles manas

bacca bubbles manas
by Cerebella
pissing down
on me
so very
into the mattress
i lifted off
the mattress and
my senses all
snapped back
into me
kick it
kick it
ribbit  ^^-
&i says to him
i says, my dear dude
spank it
spank it
^^-  elsewhere

0 thoughts on “bacca bubbles manas

  1. dear h andh, how come my poem doesn’t get to show up with all the other poems and the spacing and line breaks didn’t work. i gave it a few days before i went ahead to say i feel mobbed recently. is it because poetry is patriarchic? is it because the title is my ode to herpes? i had a dream i had ’em last night. is it because i don’t spell that great? i consider this a good poem. you know how i am, like really. i just wanna know why and on directly on the site.

    1. Pathetic patriarchic poetry pales when compared to yours(parenthetically). Perhaps, only those beneath notice can be seen from this vantage point. I’ve heard it said that at the center of the universe there’s a black hole bigger than the entire universe itself. Being so vast in size, it sucks up all the light that shines from the stars. It is so powerful that the force of it’s gravity actually creates the speed of light; a terminal velocity that light strains to breach in an effort to reach this black hole. Between this thin membrane of matter and light and the collapse toward the middle there is an event horizon where nothing exists. This shell of absence divides the black hole from the rest of existence in an interstitial void. It has a curious nature. It is because it is not. It is important in how absent it is. However important the entire universe may be and however dense the center of the universal black hole; none of it could work together without the incorruptible distance between the two. If I had to choose which to be more like~ universal in aspiration to the esoterical mystery struggling to be central to it all, I believe the best of all possible forms of existence would be as this anonymous field that balances both sides entirely in obscurity.
      Thank you for the heart-shaped cold sores. They’re dreamy like mob bosses.I’ll wear them forever.

      1. They weren’t heart shaped but you’re always welcome. Halifax my mother told me being tongue-in-cheek is being a big baby. I said we’re all big babies. I hope you like my new pseudonym. ‘Cerebella’ was getting on my nerves for a while. Made me feel really condescending. I found you on fbook and am going to send you a ‘will you be my facebook friend’ request now.

          1. that’s so sweet of you. you must be a social critic, of the self and others, like me. and no, that’s not a good look and i don’t dig that face book anymore. i just window shop for jewelery on the internets now and put any poems on my oh-so private blog for archival reasons. thanks h&h for puttin’ this up and everything they’ve put up by me. i mean it. i feel a loyalty for reals and all. i just don’t like feeling-or my work being- tampered with. i am a leo and a dragon so altogether i can turn into one son of a bitch of a lawyer. it’s a perfectionist thing. i hold my duties in high regard. everything imperfect is so annoying it’s lazy.

      1. I was talking about this one. You put it up, on the moving box of ‘regular contributors, it’s just not on the main page. So it must’ve been an okay fit. I just wanted to know why it didn’t make it on the main page, whether that was a mistake or what and why my line breaks and spacing got all messed up LOL.

  2. I have no idea.
    As far as Bacca Bubbles Mana~ manos hands of fate blows turgid soap film aloft until it closes in on itself. The orb what has been woven reflects a scene from Hamlet. Here at the opening of the play, Tom Stoppard opens his mouth and air comes out inflating the internal dialogue commenting matter-of-factually how hawks deconstructed closely resemble hand saws. Both have that iconic wheat sheaf etched into the grip. Fed on mouse blood and similarly timid creatures, Hamlet in his oh-so-decisive way, runs through the burgomaster masturbatuer hiding in the closet. It was a harvest season and mice went running. Mrs’ Frisby in a panic goes to see the great owl but he already knew her husband. Use the Sparkly Mrs’ Frisby. Courage of the heart is very rare, the stone has a power when it’s there. But see, Hamlet’s heart had been laid to rest with his father. He was on the slab with his dad as dead with sweet nothings poured in his ear. He had no courage. The ghost that haunted him was just jerking him around; convincing pour Ms Ophelia that perhaps he was into necrophilia. The lee of the stone doesn’t float in air. It sinks like a stone and drowns all that is good in its shadow. You have to stand up alone.

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