Sunday, February 12, 2012

The Baby Tooth.

Won’t you try licking all your smudgy pride

With a deciduous tongue hanging from a tree?

Won’t you now for a year sit, milking your sexy dreams

With a temporary mother sucker whisking bloody cream?

Won’t you also cry with a trillion tears sliding on enamel roads

Finally learning Primary Time has no speeding gears?

Won’t you go at last to that old tooth doctor of fate

To be identified, cleaned with silver tools, and pay?

I would kill my spirit knowing all these,

Kill it with a reborner knife standing upside down on my double root

If I learned about me, despite my hollow hope,

that I have always just been a toddler’s baby tooth.

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