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.