Teeth

Teeth are a curse we've earned for the sins
of our ancestors who ate animals with teeth
and beaks, who chewed at each other with tools
and ideas, rules and rebellion.
Teeth come twice and then they stay in
our heads like our first erotic thought
and erode over the grains of each real thing
we feed them.
Some of us chew our teeth to gravel at night
and wake up with new bodies that scrape
our tounges and burn those nerves now out
of their white iron sheaths.
Somehow they're like a key in your fist
when it sweats and you taste metal.
You want to pull them out and run your tongue
over the gums--like a shaved head in a warm
October wind.