Only now I…

Only now I wonder if I show my soul
just to feel that I have one,
to feel that it’s there and not lost or
having some how slipped out of me
like a crumpled up love note from my pocket.
 
I used to dream that all of my teeth were falling out.
I’d feel the first rolling around on my tongue, foreign
and estranged. Like I never knew it to begin with,
now out of place and with nothing to do
but be spit out into a strange hand quizzically.
 
And one by one they would like stalactites
cascade onto the then writhing
muscle feeling something new,
a fearful tongue,
and I with fearful tongue and speechless,
a mouthful of confusion, I, skipping stones
into the dark pool of my mouth, am lost.
 
Only now when I wake
do I still bare my teeth.

When I lie down, collapsing into bed,

rolling over onto my back, and close

my eyes before bringing both hands

up to my face and impel them to run

fingers through my hair: weathered

and telling fingers, tired and restless

hair, in the interrupted closingness of

shuttered eye’s lids and winged brush

of perhaps unjaded lashes let loose, I

will stop the desedimentation of my self

and start to build something I too can enjoy.