I've been at the dentist such a long time
with this tooth getting reamed out,
decay and decay ground away
in foul smelling powder.
And now it seems we're down to solid tooth.
I sit in a cave on sand.
I sit in a quarry of white stone, a quarry of bone.
The wind blows lightly over nerve.
This pain is beautiful like the grass.
It is itself,
as the grass bending brown in late afternoon sun
This pain is hard to turn into,
like the swift current under the waterfall
I pull hard to enter.
This pain is vinegar sour,
its own taste,
as the grass has its own taste,
bitter at the center where it opens,
About Sarah Webb