“Canine” by Nathan Blan

Only three teeth remaining / what can be done / sooner or later / even those three / will be gone / broken into fragments / some of which / will be swallowed / / this very hour / a new loss discovered / by my tongue / the serrated remains / of my former fourth tooth / a jagged blade rooted / into my jawbone / my tongue scraped / against it / as I sang to myself / while mending / the right knee / of my Sunday / trousers
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and I'm riding my bike at a guy that hit me with a rock
and I'm crashing into his fat stomach
and I'm going over my handlebars
and I've got his neck in my hands
and we're flying toward the ground
and I'm digging my fingers into his skin
and he's yelling and trying to choke me
and I'm slapping his hands away
and I've got my fingers in his collar
and I'm throwing him
and he's sideways in the air
and he's hitting a tree and bouncing
and hitting the ground
and I'm still mad
and I take his keys from his car
and throw them over the trees
and they don't make a sound as they fly away

It’s a beautiful morning. Did the toilet thing, which went smoothly. Made some Joe. Phone rings but nobody there. Yesterday, due to rain falling into my brainwaves, I had a splitting headache. I became semi-unconscious. If only I could have recorded every aural and visual neural spasm, it would have generated a great work of art (at least I think so).

Lee Sharks’ poems have appeared in Heaven, The White House, and Inside Your Brain All the Time, among other publications. He is the winner of numerous prizes, including Guggenheim and MacArthur fellowships. He has used his MacArthur money to replace his friends and family with moving statues made of rubies.

I am winding this clock
aware
that this is a direct reaction
to a different thought.