Fire Mouth

I decided today
not to be the punch line
of my own jokes anymore,
enough already,
haunted by
violence poured down me,
I writhed in
snake skin,
coughed up
glass shards and snails,
train tracks, and
the bannisters of haunted houses.

Was that your ghost
leaning on the doorframe
sharpening your teeth
with a handsaw?
You grin like
some wild thing
hunkering down in the wet grass
ready for the killing.
But I am one of those
that can look at you,
Dead face,
and take your language
into my mouth,
fire breaths
to mold your ice words
into hot visions,
supple flow, glow, and ebb,
madness profound
and exceptional.

I stopped in mid-thought,
to hear your wanting
before it’s spoken.
The body shows desire
through the bones
and the subtle moves of the soul
before the consciousness
even knows the desire-
the boy lies
but the body
will be heard
if one listens for the rhapsody
for we are all made of music

and trembling.

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