Another day, and it descends on me
The way a dentist's hand swoops down
A mouth on the brink of a shout.

It startled me out of sleep: night-
Mirror whose shards I gather now, these
Smithereens of murk and mystery: my gums
Melting, toppling my teeth, my tongue
A snake's coil round my neck.

Must I then say amen to the old wives' tale
And deem it a death omen? This waking.
How it pierces me with spears of light.
How voluptuous as blood-pure fang.

What song from whose tongue tames
The rage for mornings that peer on me
Its ragamuffin face?

Cockcrows. Like an uproar of curses.

The neighborhood is a chorus
Of mouths gargling out the stale
Water to my face, and all I could do is
Greet them with a mugshot smile, as if
To tell them this day is like a prison
Penalty, that they better believe
Tabloid tales might as well be our own
Story, true episodes of random wrecks: sleight
Of hand in a handshake, a friend's arm turning
Anaconda on one's shoulder, thirty pieces
Of silver rolling from a lover's whisper,
Hope's black humor, and lies murmured like
Words of honor. These, as if all deaths
We know are merely myths, as though all
The wars in the world were just rumors
Too numerous to be true.

But you--- bracing against these with
Songs, with the thunder in your tongue,
With your laughter as tidal as the waves
Of your gestures--- you tell me:

Face the mirror. Kiss it, and spit.