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Play Dead
6 poems about teeth and matches.
My hands, yes. My blood, my teeth, I remember those.
My teeth, my sainted mouth, my broken nose. I remember those.
I pry past my lips with my fingers and poke at my tongue,
but they catch
on something I’ve just forgotten. Oh yes.
All these sharp little things are mine.
My hands, yes. My blood, my teeth, I remember those.
My teeth, my sainted mouth, my broken nose. I remember those.
I pry past my lips with my fingers and poke at my tongue,
but they catch
on something I’ve just forgotten. Oh yes.
All these sharp little things are mine.
12 pages, ebook
First published September 24, 2018
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