March 18, 2012


This throb in my tooth
makes me drink
to one side,
makes me think
of Edward
in his last shaky days,
numbed out,
ready to cave,
stumble into oblivion,
caring not about
fallen crown,
abdication, history.
Like my molar,
worn out early,
eager, finally, only
for replacement,
by a brother, or any implant
who would bridge the gap,
he was pulled, seduced
by a saccharine sweetness
waiting, always waiting
for the unprepared.