Three 3

Teeth are just
bones that grew
through and exposed
themselves. My sweet
and citrus youth filed
down the fine sheen
of enamel and now
even the draw
of my own breath
picks a quick slip
of pain into my mouth.
I wake up in shivering
sweat with images
of my teeth swaying
in my gums like
the bushy tails of wheat
out on a plain. There is
no apology to teeth, no
getting back. They just go
on quietly inflicting
their tiny violences.

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