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,

mid-sentence,

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.