Teeth
Grinder
At night
I whet my teeth
on a new, strange stone, uppers
and lowers sawing away
as others saw logs.
No ache
I know, awake, to nudge such a mill
to grate – no enemy
for whom
I hone them keen. No food
that tough
excites such filing down.
I do not know
what lever sets these bony cogs
in motion. I do not know
what melody they grind. What I do know is:
some angst has put sharp teeth
in my dreams, and now I sleep alone.
Ken Anderson is
from Decatur, Georgia, USA. His publications include Café Review, Club Plum, Coffin Bell, Dash,
Dawntreader, Hole in the Head Review, Hyacinth Review, Impostor, The
Journal, London Grip, Lotus-eater, Lullwater Review, Modern Literature,
Neologism Poetry Review, Oddball Magazine, Orbis, Penumbra, Rudderless
Mariner Poetry, Sangam Literary Magazine, Sein und Werden, Toho
Journal, Verbal Art, The Waiting Room, and Willawa Journal. His poetry books
are Permanent Gardens
(Seabolt Press, 1972) and The
Intense Lover (Starbooks, 1995).