Sunday, July 17, 2005

My Teeth In The Mirror Seth Michelson

Smog-stained, coffee-stained, burnt by digestion's
enzymes (me eating me), the rim my mouth
like a harbor's yellowed palings, stand guard
at the hideout's door. Gate-like, they open
for the edible; divide like fences
my stench from New York's. Plus how tenderly
they clasp nipples and lips in the dark!
O enameled, stalwart lovebuckles!
O speed bumps between my voice and the world!
Bear this corrosion until you're withered
and your center's deeply sore, then make me
believe in your cavities as metaphor:
That all the holes in a life
can be polished, filled with silver,
and, if rootless, dressed in layers of gold.