Epagraph Poem


Till Our Teeth Purple

A soft rain stole in, unhelped by any breeze,
And when I saw the silver glaze on the windows,
I started with A…
                                               
-The Names, Billy Collins

My mouth gaping open-

When you’ve tipped your chair,
after teetering it on the edge-
Over.
And gravity drops you at dead weight,
and the air you’re breathing pounces off the inside of your lungs,
and the ocean of oxygen surrounding you hides…

My fingers scurry, reaching in
cannot grasp my sounds-

The salt taste caught and carried in
from my lips 
pokes my gag reflex-
(and if I could puke the words I would).

The rape of the world has been dubbed
[silent] 
by consistent-repetitive-drilling
pounding war,
pushing my eyes wide and forward.

Tonight we wine 
till our teeth purple.

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