My Cardboard Balcony

I Dream Of Losing My Teeth by Belinda Roddie I dream of losing my teeth - wiggling them out, yanking them out, feeling them loosen in my gums as I rip the ivory from the roots and stick my tongue deep into the crevasses my actions leave behind. And then I wake up and run an index finger against my canines and incisors and relax when I find all my chompers are still there. They say you dream about your teeth falling out when you are afraid of growing older, but what does it mean when you twist out the molars yourself, smiling gaps and spitting cider in between the holes? Is it that I initiate my own aging, growing up too fast and losing my bones to dust? Or am I accepting the inevitable, dragging my gums into soup, and preparing to go prematurely gray?

Were you unfaithful to me that tonight? Did you find a way into Larkshire's bed when I was half-asleep on the curb, eating cold kidney from an iron plate. No. Hush. Foghorn on the bay. South of here is the tower. It transmits radio waves. Sends me messages about you when you're not around. Reminds me to come home. Reminds me to drink coffee more often. Reminds me to think. Reminds me to weep. While you licked Larkshire's beard.