You serrate each incisor
Chisel every molar
Mouth; a society of trees
Seeded aching
Through red earth
The sheen the sheen
A pretty ash trap
Sanded smooth by tongue
By work by word
You open your lips
Opening a wound
The Bone showing glory
Dance of the bright
Gnashers aglinting
One takes a battering
And is lost in the flood
Flotsam on the stream
Years of smoke of tannin
Coloured brown papyrus
You want to know someone true
How bad are their teeth
The worse the better
