Justin Boening
When nobody's
watching, I lose
my lisp, open my mouth,
put my teeth back
in like an engine
in the night.
This is new to me:
the knife
north on my tongue,
rolled scarf
in my mouth, wearing nothing
like a hat. To save
myself, I'll have
to remove
myself. Could you hold this
for me, this book,
in winters. In winters,
I'll write you letters,
not say a thing
until I'm certain.
In summers I'll burn
my mouth,
the roof of it, on its pages.
My voice is waking
me. I want it
to wake me again.