I.
I chipped this tooth
trying to gnaw
through
the bricks in the bell tower
that overlooked
the country club golf course
tucked away under
dim and dead suburb-street-lamps.
misplaced middle-school mitigation
thrown up
into stolen golf carts
whirring through sidewalks
over the shoe prints
of neurosurgeons.
I thought maybe
some lost
or fallen
seraph
sat in shadow,
up there,
watching us sneak over sandpits
tromping away from sun
lawn lanterns relocated
to a hiding place in the woods
where we arranged them
making circles in our sacred dirt
before making the neighborhood news.
II.
I really chipped this tooth
bringing up a microphone
too fast.
and this one
from pissing off the wrong youth crew.
i woke up on the floor of your kitchen
to you
and a veil of towels
my blood
all over
the brick wall
dripping a trail
up the basement steps
then i remembered;
the catholics.
the school.
too,
was built
with bricks.
III.
I half expected
your body to shoot up
and demanding
the funeral home's muzak
be brought to a fiery halt.
or you to make fun of us
for "wasting good paint."
but you just laid there.
Krylon cans filled up the casket
and for the first time;
you said nothing.
and that priest kept talking.
and the crucifix remained
right-side up
sitting there,
i hoped somehow
someday
you'd put all that paint to use
and i wouldn't have to chew so hard
through the bricks
in the belltower
