I sand my teeth with metal emery boards,
catch dust of enamel and tin on my tongue.
The back of mouth bleeds congestion and
stale euphoric memory of the high. It tastes
of gasoline and disease. Chrome puss
floods my gums when I laugh and clinch.
My bones quake to stand still. I am faced
opposite of yesterday-the warm melted
smell of cannibalism licks my neck. I will
not turn to its truth. Relinquish trophies
that stab my cheeks. I will grind smooth
spit-shine stars from their blackness.