en-dogged

Poem #124 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

---

he does not know
how

he cannot say

it is a mystery

profound

but
it is wet in here

standing on the tongue
gazing up at ridges

pink sand dunes
carved
in a canine sahara

out
gazing out at teeth
yellow
white

they are ivory

with morsels caught

with tartar

somehow
he is on the inside
looking out

somehow the teeth
are closed and tight
but he
himself
remains un-bitten

Hey!

Hey!

he leaps

up and down
and up
and down

saliva pools

the world explodes
from side to side
shaking
at an oral irritation

knocked off his feet
he feels a deep vibration
hears
a rising rumble

then explosion

explosion

explosion

a bark perhaps
but
overwhelming

he vomits
as the tongue
on which he stands
convulses
in a swallow
roller-coasters him
up and down and
up and almost
back
almost to the throat
to be swallowed

but finally he sits
in the middle of the pink
staring forward
at closed ivory

closed
yellow prison bars

he does not know

he cannot say

it is a mystery

profound

---

© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #125: words