Poetry- Harry Dell

What’s False About Cracked Teeth?

There are words I will not write here, and not
the ones already locked up in lizard skin.

No lock or clasp can contain them,
or curtail their twitches and coils.

They eke out like poisonous vapor,
to not exist and rob saliva of snapped flight.

Without the cross between eyes,
blood is not content to simmer or bubble
back down like toffee. It burns and
sticks to those words, becoming a
crust to chew and grind through the night.

It pools and swirls, stripping ...

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