it's taken all--
it's taken all off, now,
the roof of the tongue, lips, the edges of the teeth--
worn as they are with husk- and hull-crushings,
seed-snappings, sounding ever like ham-hocks smacking doorframes--
taken off the edges, the white heat and white noise,
bruised amalgam of sensation like fruit in
hanged wistful on the bough's end til a fist filled,
then in the teeth, through them and with them, the unification found
in stones, in a stew of prunes--
it's taken all, taken off now,
elements of the grass, the sandlot, shaking away
the impress on all flesh--lashing out the singular--
carving out the shore's line with great god-fistfuls
of cling water.
you taught me how to speak.