Must I have lived my life On bread and candy and mercury? I am rewarded with wringing hands and open mouths that Make agitating sounds. They cause me to get up at night. My mouth is a precious commodity. It is an orifice. My fat sterile gums squeeze my teeth, Good from years of being a non-smoker. My big moist teeth Chatter around in my head. The noise causes me to get up at night. The wind is sharp and dispensable to my tooth as it comes by. I used to pray to keep you, teeth, In hopes of disposing my own old hag. She is silver in my stove. She causes me to get up at night. They have little red minds, these little red teeth, Combusting and poisoning as if they were rods of mercury In a glass thermometer. My big moist teeth Chatter around in my big moist head I Get up and look out the big moist window Where all the dark is stuffed into sirens and planes. I am probing But they are still chattering. They cause me to get up at night. My tongue, bald, rolls around in this little soupy mouth of mine. I swallow gravel repeatedly. Now let me lie still at night.