Pain lurks in the back of your gums.

A wisdom tooth is growing. Transition - troubling thoughts

Of coming to. A room of sullen faces foreheads wrinkled

Cotton clinging to your loose lips. The tribunal enters

Stage right: blood dribbles down your pockmarked chin

Eyes roll. Exit? Blocked and strength is failing.

Crash! Your chance, you stagger down the stairwell

Hobbling with your IV stand of a cane

Roaring wind assaults you on the pavement

Hail a taxi waving with your good hand.

 

A flurry sweeps, restless in the winter:

Anxiety-soaked fragments scattered by

Halving problems to the higher powers.

 

Heel, you boastful bloodhound. I command it!

My satin lining breached by searching fingers

Clawing for a pulpy jagged core.

Plum seeds buried in a bird's nest

Of wrinkled receipts. Flesh dry, ink fading.

The gaping seam now closely excavated,

I watch the work begin with bated breath.

 

Gnawing at the mummified remains

All bite no bark it's honest work I fear.

Tongue torn red with gnashing desperate mouthfuls,

My eyes ablaze, seized by the vicious maw.

Kneeling pious as a pilgrim arms raised

To the heavens - I ought to change the wind.

I want to hold your face the way it is.

 

At night, I hear them rattle in your chest.

Our stomachs rise and fall in counterpoint

A superglued prophetic diorama

Suspended in the goo that keeps the spine straight.