Wisdom (Tooth)

Thirty-nine lashes
Seems too many.
We must curate
Some kind of chalk or stone,
Nail or bone.
It leaves the taste of rust
In my mouth.
Chewing my words,
The more I talk,
The more I bleed.
Mounting pressure,
Crowds the chipped
And broken-ridged
Chuckle at an old cliché,
Barking mad
And biting
’Til the room begins to spin.

Surely thirty-nine is too late
To acquire this?
Stand it on its head.
Count back to one from four,
But there’s no quieting
The rattling of the bones –
No armor can prevent
This piercing of the flesh.

Aptly named –
You will learn patience,
But it is too late
To acquire this –
And how many chapters
Are to follow?

There –
It is long enough.
So set aside the gold.
Search for a sharpened spade
Strong enough
And long enough
To cut beneath the root
Before all this bad wisdom
Makes its way into the marrow.

About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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