My tooth, as if I had just one,

this one that hurts, speaks to me,

as do all addictions: Come to me, stay away,

return! and I fervently obey.

Closing my eyes to ease the pain,

I see it risen like a tomb or monument

without inscription; an enameled brain

backlit by angry searchlights.

Soft-maker of my food, gem

of my jaw, masher, grain-grinder:

your heart is one electric nerve

and you have lost your crown.

The sky is made of nitrous oxide

and I fall in love with towering nurses,

their Ethiopian or Irish songs,

stardust sparkling through mascara.

God rises above the chair,

a bald, ham-fingered tooth-farmer

with nose hairs thick as trees; and you,

molar, when you’re pulled,

I’ll bury you in a jar of jawbreakers:

may they eat you always.