Goose Lane Editions

"Garbage Disposal"

My mouth, where you put discarded things:
rust icicle broken from a car-body,
dark apron, its pocket still heavy with coins,
finger-painting in purple, black and blue.

I swallowed paper names
your tongue stumbled, forgot
and spat, mispronounced, at the air.

Wore down my teeth chewing cast-off
clothing, hoping saliva would dissolve
your smell, a dusting of cells.

My mouth, your unwilling oubliette:
tonguing broken aquarium glass,
the taste of ink licked from salt palms,
my lips mottled by storm clouds.

I eat your leftovers.