[dis-guhst, dih-skuhst]


Dis – reverse, absence of, not

Gust – taste, appetite, liking, delight


Adorned with sibilants,

with guttural consonant climaxing in bloody sneeze flourish.

One thing I find as I grow older is

The presence of disgust

Grows like a creeping vine

Amidst the happier tendrils of my mind

Irritation and nausea stud the disgust like berries in Jell-O

Oh so stronger now

Curmudgeon grumblings

Needly thoughts over petty petty things

Because disgust has replaced patience

(and tolerance of other human beings)

My compliments to the chef —

for this food I cannot eat.

Whereas I had always an unwavering

Edacious taste for text,

I’ve recently begun picking at my food.

Staring at these birds of words in front of me

With not merely indifference

But revulsion

As though thoughts and constructions perceived by my mind’s eye to be flawed

Were somehow physically wrong and unnatural forms,

forcing me to avert

my gaze.

I find news disgusting

Overexposition is vulgar.

Electric molasses oozes its way down media pipelines

Splattering all over the dinner table

Like the autopsied guts of crime on stainless steel

Disgust distaste indigestion contempt

Crawl, skitter all over

Lip curls back

Stomach roils

Mind flip flops

And turgid thoughts turn to bile at the back of the throat

Mosquito whine

Clammy skin and pools of clean saliva

Hard swallow

Bile rises

It’s coming, excuse me

Chunky release.

I suppose I’m growing into heightened sensibilities,

Heightened discernment.

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