It’s knowin’ oral ports are always open, and folks gnash ’em when they talk
that makes me bend my fingers so that I can stash ’em inside of their mouths.
As I’m gropin’ where they’re snackin’, where is found composite bond
in those chink breaks that were pried so many times.
I see there’s loose a cracked mol’ that was riven by pits, cherry.
I’m pleased ’cause I’ve got dental on my mind.

Pits are chinkin’ just like rocks that pry and bash enamel columns once quite mighty.
Tooth doctors fill patients with dread because we often fill and drill with caulking,
which we’re stowin’ while they’re moaning, cursing; we’re kibitzing drilling
on we talk and blast those ailing cracks we’ve mined.
There is grooving on those wracked mols’ that were riven by pits, cherry.
And you glower ’cause I’ve got dental on my mind.

Sugar treats yield many holes mined;
it’s the junk food that’s the blight way and teeth fucks up.
Call me “mother’” and start crying as I smother you with nitrous till you’re gone.
When thus I’ve won your silence, jeers of joy lighten my face;
I’ve had stunning fun that some might find unkind.
But shot are your cracked and wracked teeth. . .need caulking by the maxload,
blighted, riven—so I’ve dental on my mind.

IV drip keeps you looped and, throat’s a gurgling, gagging bawl box that has brayed hard.
I fear a mumbling so vile when the pearlies-patching bill confronts your face.
Might cup hands toward my chin and then upend them right on past my chest and grind
them all way into my back mol’s—they’d be riven, just a mem’ry—
wreck my smile, which would be dentally unkind.