Poem of the Day, April 11: "Teeth that Chatter"

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Summary: Continuing my 10-minute-poem-of-the-day, this one deals a little more with horror themes.

BLOT: (11 Apr 2016 - 09:03:54 PM)

Poem of the Day, April 11: "Teeth that Chatter"

Continuing the poem of the day, and continuing to write it in ten minutes. For the next couple of days, I want to try a few horror themes, because it is strangely something I don't visit often in my poetry.

"Teeth that Chatter"

The teeth that chatter in the cold are the same {

teeth that smile at the stranger passing by in the clearing fog on a frosty March morning |

teeth that chew the food barely sustaining you day to day and dearly earned through your underwhelming minimum wage job |

teeth that bare and grimace in the pain of middle age setting in |

teeth that mark the shape of the mouth as they grind through a callous night |

teeth that bites a lover's tongue in sharp playfulness |

teeth that wither and die in old age, fading to dust and falling like leaves in a November wind |

teeth that grow in the skulls of children, hidden from the light like roaches are hidden in the walls from the light |

teeth that hold cracks and hole and all the various sins of sweets and chewy candy |

teeth that slide over the barrel of the gun when it finally comes that there is nothing left to achieve except to finally call it quits while you are only so far behind |

teeth that bust the cheek and the fist of the young punk who strikes you in anger because of nothing that really matters anyway |

teeth that grow round and soft from lack of fluorine |

teeth that run away and hide in the corner where the whispermen play |

teeth that know the hue of blood drank from the young girl who simply asked you to help her find her home again |

teeth that have traveled with you for years as you were lost in the maze of foreign cities |

teeth that know your secret, but will never tell |

teeth that are teeth until they are not teeth and instead or something else, a graveyard of a mouth}.

The teeth that chatter in the cold are the same as when you took them from the old man who said they would tell you things. The teeth that chatter with fear are the same.


Written by Doug Bolden

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