those teeth gnawing on me
clamping down on my guts, my skull, soul –
sole occupant of this bone chasm pit
scum (you say) but I heard an echo
beating against the shuddering walls
I have been staggered by the grossness
of time
it will make you stand on your head
I weep still, pulling out teeth down to the bone-root
there is no blood left to spit – you and I –
gasp, the sharp sand cutting like a million
tiny clever blades
until hair by fragile hair is gone with longing
I can’t call you anymore I’ve long forgotten
the words
