***
creeping cr o ne
my teeth are crowd e d,
mmy molars are shouting match e s like rasping flashes on rough boxxes
lemonp e e ls and t i ncans grating in the cavities in my gums
Doctor stands around like a stalagmite dripping up w a r ds
porridge pangs are my crude tusks of stalactite complaint
the cavern i cannot stretch to yawn,
a red socket of mismet connections
chintziness chanting use the syringe!
we have to keep our teeth, you know-
we have to k e e p our teeeth!
(i cannot help but think, of the impact, or that-
maybe all this has taken something out of m e.)
we have to keep them from crushing those
we need to sew them onto our shirts with red thread
and use them for buttons, we have to keep our teeth
***
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