Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2020
a week's worth of loose filling on a muller -
donkey's years since it's been in place...
the odd clove pressed onto the tooth
to release some sort of anaesthetic -
                            but not enough -

             a spot of good luck... an emergency
visit to the dentist...
we were agreed upon: the filling was loose...
before he started he asked me:
would you like a local anaesthetic?

for a split second...
         if i asked for an anaesthetic...
  this past week would have been pointless
from all that irritating: trivial pain...
i asked how much it would pain me
for him to lift up the filling... clean the tooth
up and put some makeshift glue
in...

'let me know'...
       go for it herr-dentysta-sadysta...
                                     it had to come to this...
this book of revelation sort of pain...
an exquisite sharpness about it...
pure... pristine... a water from a gaelic highland's
waterfall...
        illuminating as a summation of
all those little syringes and mosquitos pinching
at the bone and gums...
            prior throughout the week...

the same when i dislocated my index finger
and was asked: would you like
me to administer a local anaesthetic...
                no... i'm here to savour the pain...
the last reality of whatever else comes in between
as a modern twist of nuisance and convenience...

i'm guessing the sharpness came
from tooth marrow being exposed to some air...
like fish suffocating on the edge of
the tide upon the shore...
these quasi-fish of my blood suffocating...

how else to allow yourself to feel
something that's bound to the same reality
of a nail scratching a blackboard...
a mahler's violin...
                                     in teeth:
all the raw details...
         mouth agape three hands working
their way around the wardrobe of a smile...
pearly james and jammy peter
shutting out hell's maggot of a tongue...

i can't even remember the last time
i visisted the dentist...
         but i didn't want to pinch myself:
to find a relief of the "affair"
    by being numbed...
               taking nothing of the zenith...
what... a clarifying experience...
            there's not much else to be said.
Mateuš Conrad
Written by
Mateuš Conrad  36/M/Essex (England)
(36/M/Essex (England))   
43
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems