Those Teeth

Those teeth:
pearl white, 
perfected.

Straight, sharp, 
and no mistake: 
they can cut.

It’s the color
(or lack of one)
that makes them

so scary. Nothing
but snow and 
that tunnel entered

upon dying 
should be that color
(or lack of one). If you

bite me, you unnatural
blinders, you mirrors
that do not reflect; if you

take any piece of me —
proud walk, working hands,
core muscles, wide view — 

I assure you
that you shall choke
and in death you will not

remain unstained.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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