because my teeth are thick with the dust of 18 months of hiding in the desert, and finding shining secrets here, and things that make me smile in the dark,
because my teeth are thick with a hundred meals from a hundred nights of eating at the last minute before the night becomes something else, garlic and oil and twisted pastas from two continents, a thousand secrets about food that i can't speak, and a thousand ways to mix ingredients that i don't understand, coupled with the constant craving for knowledge about the secrets of fire, and i don't have the words to even start to spell the secrets with my tongue,
because my teeth are thick with the things that unfold when i spill my heart and listen to hearts spill over tobacco, those furious smoking nights where the words i love you come through letters and not tongues, those calm simmering nights when there is only small talk about the day behind and the day ahead, and those restless smoldering nights when smoke begins a song about what we might be able to do with just one chair, and those brave and clear nights with clear smoke by cars in parking lots just when the heat is starting to lift, just a little, only a little, it only lifts a little and it's never very long here, so we always have to act fast so we can act slow later,
because my teeth are thick with the layers of salt that come off of wet skin,
because my teeth are thick with milk and coffee, a thousand drops that fall through the hole in my lips, the space where faltering things come faltering through, an endless interruption, yes this is nice, this is very nice, but there's always this, there's always a hole in my mouth where the world comes pouring in and out, it's my wound, the one i claimed for myself, it's the one that never heals and stopped trying to heal, this is the hole, this is the story, this is why my mouth is always open, and it's always this story that gets told in a thousand directions and it never gets old, it's the story of the bottom of the sea and i have to tell it in cryptic forms because to speak it again would be a lie, because it doesn't mean what i think it means, and i don't understand it in the way that it's open to be understood,
because my teeth are thick with salt water, the salt of the skin of lovers who come and go, come and go, back to the sea, back to the desert, back to the forest, and back again to the sea, and it would be easy to say that if i opened my mouth long enough, you would only hear that i love the sea, i've always loved the sea, the sea belongs to me, and i belong to her, but we're not always in the right time and place to be together, but i always go back to the sea, and when i do, my teeth are thick in just the right portions of sense and inspiration, and then i don't have to speak so fast or so often, because it's a slow story that is told in time, with themes and variations of a very old love story, denies the ages of the people involved in the story, it seems as though we are all destined to keep meeting again, but it's a rhythm that is beyond me, and far beyond my control.
because i lost control a long time ago, but my teeth are thick, because they hold threads, and despite the calm and furious and smoldering and restless beatings of the waves on these rocks, i never did lose the thread.
because my teeth are thick with a hundred meals from a hundred nights of eating at the last minute before the night becomes something else, garlic and oil and twisted pastas from two continents, a thousand secrets about food that i can't speak, and a thousand ways to mix ingredients that i don't understand, coupled with the constant craving for knowledge about the secrets of fire, and i don't have the words to even start to spell the secrets with my tongue,
because my teeth are thick with the things that unfold when i spill my heart and listen to hearts spill over tobacco, those furious smoking nights where the words i love you come through letters and not tongues, those calm simmering nights when there is only small talk about the day behind and the day ahead, and those restless smoldering nights when smoke begins a song about what we might be able to do with just one chair, and those brave and clear nights with clear smoke by cars in parking lots just when the heat is starting to lift, just a little, only a little, it only lifts a little and it's never very long here, so we always have to act fast so we can act slow later,
because my teeth are thick with the layers of salt that come off of wet skin,
because my teeth are thick with milk and coffee, a thousand drops that fall through the hole in my lips, the space where faltering things come faltering through, an endless interruption, yes this is nice, this is very nice, but there's always this, there's always a hole in my mouth where the world comes pouring in and out, it's my wound, the one i claimed for myself, it's the one that never heals and stopped trying to heal, this is the hole, this is the story, this is why my mouth is always open, and it's always this story that gets told in a thousand directions and it never gets old, it's the story of the bottom of the sea and i have to tell it in cryptic forms because to speak it again would be a lie, because it doesn't mean what i think it means, and i don't understand it in the way that it's open to be understood,
because my teeth are thick with salt water, the salt of the skin of lovers who come and go, come and go, back to the sea, back to the desert, back to the forest, and back again to the sea, and it would be easy to say that if i opened my mouth long enough, you would only hear that i love the sea, i've always loved the sea, the sea belongs to me, and i belong to her, but we're not always in the right time and place to be together, but i always go back to the sea, and when i do, my teeth are thick in just the right portions of sense and inspiration, and then i don't have to speak so fast or so often, because it's a slow story that is told in time, with themes and variations of a very old love story, denies the ages of the people involved in the story, it seems as though we are all destined to keep meeting again, but it's a rhythm that is beyond me, and far beyond my control.
because i lost control a long time ago, but my teeth are thick, because they hold threads, and despite the calm and furious and smoldering and restless beatings of the waves on these rocks, i never did lose the thread.
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