Poem by Alex Kramer
You wonder how many times it will take to brush your teeth before
you see your mouth normally again.
How many scrapes over the plaque
in slow motion
How much does plaque hold?
The yellow germs you think about but what sin
Is so great
It wasn't great
You push down on the wet bristles
standing in dichotomy to your stature.
They pin under your nail.
The albatross of alcohol swishing back and forth
Slivers elapse the chasms,
Your teeth included.
Are you clean yet?
Your tongue is a tool.
Your tongue is too far gone, best wishes.
Cut it out.
The tastebuds are too reminiscing.
Much too spiteful,
They should fall out.
Scrub the bumps out.
Scrub yourself, use a hose.
And for god's sake spit out the mouth wash.