teeth

Heimweh

Photo: Claire Doble

the tongue is more sensitive than fingers

teeth shift and move

into more conventional spaces

do teeth have a morality

or is it just vanity?

on a perfect yellow morning

kookaburras outside my window

laugh at me for leaving

and I ache not to go

heimweih

feels like family

sunwarm and delightful

sense of

remembered yearning

from living overseas

all those years

crammed into my niche

missing Switzerland

where I could be anyone

recently

a stranger reassured me

I’m better now

content here

in another heartplace

fitting almost perfectly

conventional

with a kink

do teeth have a morality

or is it just vanity

 

 

Storm damage

when I look around

really look

there’s a plastic bag of cig butts

skidding along the side path

that makes me think

teenagers were trying to break in

and a board against the back fence

like a skate ramp

were they…

while

my front teeth are growing like a rodent’s

who hasn’t gnawed enough carrot

and my guts roil and play

menacing, an active volcano

then I realise the butts were his stash

blown askew by the wind

forgotten, while death floated so close

and a fern has fallen

cracked its pot

in the morning light

I hope my teeth are all right

because

more damage has been done and

I’m more broken

than I thought

Slip

I will slip in under your radar

to a room bathed blue in TV-light

where pictures haunt and flicker

empty, and the sound turned quiet

edges of my teeth touch, catch

weak magnet unsticks

clings

I will slip in like the noise

of soft rain wakes you up

next morning wonder

how a bright wall

gets impossible to see

in slabs of summer sun

when shadeblooms shock the eyes

I will slip in, I will slip in to your pocket

finger me like a half-forgotten coin

smooth from use, warm

savouring the many chances and

ways to spend

 

Recording (poem changed a bit and have updated it above) https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/slip

 

Photo: https://unsplash.com/@aajanita

Gold, Fools

today I saw old scars and heard

new stories about them

gaps in teeth winking like small sequins

while words trickled through that glistened with meaning I tried to catch

like gold panning

they say the precious dust settles to the bottom because it’s heavy

like truth can be a burden and

hard to see among shifting sands and gravel

and maybe if you eat the whole beach and keep on licking the shore that way

seeking truth

your teeth will grind away and your stomach will ache because

there’s a lot to swallow and a body can’t always tell what’s heavy metal or which parts of what you’ve ingested are the righteous words and concepts in the flock

mistakes can be made at cellular level, muddles, cancer is the body attacking itself or growing too fast in one direction like gold fever can kill

(a lie: that truth always sets us free)

it’s as complicated as a whole ocean of shells

and I’m so busy Living in The Moment

I can’t even remember who I was

or wanted to be — don’t ask me for definitive answers — my garbled utterances are the muddy water in the pan and those flecks and facets of shiny stuff could be any damn thing

I think this is probably yesterday’s prompt: (Naprwrimo day 6) to play with line lengths. I’m running a bit behind schedule but hope to catch up soon…

Photo: Pineapple Supple Co @Unsplash