I Am a Beautiful Tongue

I communicate a lot with my tongue
without necessarily being aware of
the color, texture and moisture of
my tongue.

Sometimes I’ll be praying in tongues
and it and it feels like I am simply talking
to you, explaining how I am in a parallel universe
biting your toenails.

When I decide to tell the truth,
I’m not really conscious of the fact
that I’m not going to lie.

I guess I am one of those lucky people
who don’t even need a constant

         *      *      *      *      *      *

The Internet allows us to communicate
the “burned” area to each other better now
than walking to a pile of “ashes” and saying

Thus, fewer precious calories are

         *      *      *      *      *      *

I don’t want to make excuses, but
I have been in a literal “cage match”
since the day I was borne, and therefore
just brush my teeth twice a day.

         *      *      *      *      *      *

Gum or mints are made with the heart,
not mind exercises.

         *      *      *      *      *      *

I regret trying to control those I love, and,
more importantly, those who are
very unkind to me.

         *      *      *      *      *      *

I don’t want to make excuses, but
I have been under a lot of stress and getting very little sleep.

As such, my blue tongue and sensation makes it (i.e. physical
words) bones that (we) can be heard and understood.

         *      *      *      *      *      *

Sometimes this kind of quick communication
will be a prayer, a praise, or a repetition of
verbal abuse received during my childhood.

Sometimes this kind of quick communication
is an adage, intended to impart wisdom.

Don’t ever be too busy to stop and ask,
“Hey, this is great, but can I put my
tongue in your mouth?”

Sometimes this kind of quick communication
is a story, intended to inflame wisdom

I remember the night I met
the most beautiful girl in the
refridgerator for the very first time
outside of the refrigerator.
It was the worst night of my life.
She was a jar of mayonnaise,
and I’ver never liked mayonnaise.

         *      *      *      *      *      *

An oracle is within my speech impediment
my upper teeth
my childhood teeth
my English tongue
my victory thoughts.

So then, my beloved, do
a series of “click” sounds
contemplate alien grooves and fissures,
repeat our previous conversations as of late
by growing a coded series of mouth ulcers.

Try to fold your beautiful world in half,
turn it upside down, and flutter it as good
ambassadors of returned letters’

         *      *      *      *      *      *

I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, but
I too have had time without proper nutrition.

I don’t want you to hate all dentists, but
I dream of a dentist coming into my cell each night
and pulling out all the metal from my mouth
with a very old and very rusty magnet.

I do want you to hate all
very old and rusty magnets.

         *      *      *      *      *      *

I admit that my newborn responds to sights, sounds and touch,
hurts nonstop throughout the day,
and feels bloated.

We gave her morphine.

She slept a lot.

         *      *      *      *      *      *

I would visualize thicker edges, but
in heaven there is a slowness
a lot of activities with a dangerous instrument
that at any time can fall out of my mouth?

         *      *      *      *      *      *

It might seem sometimes like my friends knew
Spanish in a foreign language.

I don’t blame them for them not knowing a lot
of animal sounds are more than just moving
your tongue and lips when the glass is half full.

I don’t mean to confuse the issue, but
I often have to take a second breath
prior to the first.

I know that I’ve taken lots of cold medicine my whole life,
I know that I’ve often been quiet and my mind seems to be blank all the time,

I know that I occasionally get frequent dizziness, but
to say there will be no more waking up during the night and
maintaining eye contact with those still in the dream?

         *      *      *      *      *      *

You can cut my arms off. If you ask me
how I feel it will depend a lot on my mood.

Ask me after I brush against the inside of
a swallow’s cheek or produce bagpipe music.

Ask me after I am finished pointing to
the pharmacist in the magazine and saying,
“He is the murderer. This is the man who killed

         *      *      *      *      *      *

I’m an agreeable person, but
when I hear things I don’t agree with,
I yell back with a lot of emotion,
I began to speak in tongues,
I bang the table with my fist and say,
“I’ve never chewed beef jerkey
without using my jaw!”

         *      *      *      *      *      *

It’s all so very much like
that song, “They paved
my throat / and put up
an alternate nasal cavity.”

with apologies to Francis Picabia

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