Saturday, September 10, 2016

Why Don’t You Smile More?

Narcolept in surgery on the table flat lined year
Injected topical, a single tear and the scalpel slices gum tissue 
Overhead projector for a nine thousand dollar three hours
To crack a jaw, hammer teeth and remove the work of sixteen years ago

Three implants and a fourth tooth root canal removed
Quartered smile sequestered behind the idea that it has not been real
Since third grade, lumber, bike, and face
Blood a classroom after two weeks not wanting to walk in or smile big

Explain that I felt like it was my fault, Catholic school rim of desks
Went outside the boundary of providence and busted permanence
Intentional behavior beyond the domestic standard
So that in eighth grade in a fight to not throw a punch

To have the weakest in the triad dislodge in a week on New Year’s Day
Spit out and acknowledge retained learning of how to defend one’s self under god
Of what one is told and does not do to obey and seek redemption
In quiet and notebooks and blue carpets and red glob spit

Dunked in milk, grass, and denture cleaner
Nail fungus and braces tightrope walking placeholder
Straight aligned and long term thinking  
Ramones one, two, three, four punk suburban brain

Percolating college implants as a finish line for mouthing the metal
Eruptions and failure and ripping out and looking in the mirror near forty
And feeling like the monster an ex-wife spun and daughter shuns
A gaping hole and fangs, blood and cadaver banked bone

Sterilized to insert and rebuild to have me readied to drill in again
Put more metal in me, improved technology cyborg zombie
A year from now after this surgery, six months, and six months after healed enough
To be picture ready and for now I don’t want to wear the partial

The temporary or whatever the fuck you call this plastic tray four toothed sham dish
Gums are swollen, sliced and raw and the pressure of it is more pain
For what; appearances for the folks at work on the street as if I don’t sound
Like a failed whistler or could frighten children beast style if given the sidewalk

Whatever; it’s just a stupid modern mime about body parts insignificant
Something punk in not wearing frontals that makes me a bit happier
Missing yoga with the fatigue, amplified by the not sleeping kind of sucks though
Staying up staring at pillows or computer screens

Eating around anything that requires biting
Sipping season and mashed carrots, library audiobooks, and online matrix
Water the rosemary and clean the turtle shit
Driving two hours to a meat plant and watch the boxes of animal skeletons  

Men slice blood and cow legs and ribs crack
Heads in slaughter closet in Nebraska away from here by eighteen wheeler
My thoughts are about barcodes and accounting, scan guns and documenting
How not to fuck up; staring at an atheist’s god

Wanting there to be something more than these books I’ve written
Hours scribbled and texts to a daughter who randomly answers
With her trying to figure out twelve and for all these black hole reasons
I am banished from participating how or where I want

And the word family feels like a third grade classroom
Wanting me to piss my khakis or slam my smile into a cubbyhole snuff film
Repeated until a custody trial questions why I don’t enough
Or I worry I am recycling Freudian desire to have my old life back in some trap

The fear of the surgery was coming and I felt time shortening
Pressure of wanting family and god, wife and child
To go back to a place of pain in a masochistic torture drone camera lens
Because venturing out has brought so much rejection

Question the questioning, the odyssey and wanting it to end
In some enveloped pointlessness, wanting to not exist like fifteen year old suicide
Joking on sidewalks summarily rejected digging through grass for missing pieces
Plugging holes with whatever is found nearby wind picking up blades

Green and red and dirt and a sky god obliterated and resurrected
In answerless answers to a thirty seven year old man lying on a surgery table
Asking to be drugged with laughing gas and the doctor forgets
And I lie there and take chisel and pay to have teeth whacked

Arms prone and refusing to budge allowing the confrontation unabated
Like a good boy with his obedient tongue and gnarled silence
Wheeled out in a chair to his mother, rolling home to the empty stairs full of pictures
In the illusion of space hoping the exhaustion will allow the pillow, sleep 

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