Rumpus Original Poetry: Three Poems by lukas ray hall
burning mouth syndrome
you see i didn’t mean
to seek this one out.
it stumbled upon me.
nighttime ash,
a fire lurching
up the mind’s
kitchen wall.
i didn’t notice
the smoke.
didn’t notice the swelter
until you told me.
the dysphagia,
a spasm, a dryness,
a corrosion of the mouth
from the inside
& here i am
dumbfounded
in that kitchen
now engulfed, too,
by all the flames
that surely surround me
& i’m questioning,
while heaving over
in the thickness,
if this fire has
anything to do
with the fire raging
throughout the rest
of the house.
all it takes to kiss my partner
aware of the eye,
aware of the floaters,
the blurred edge
& faded moth wings
in the periphery.
out stretch the pupil.
aware the detachment
away, the snow sizzle
& TV static,
the pinkness & muck.
aware of milliseconds.
aware of overreacting.
aware of the nanoseconds.
aware of obsession,
the prodding at my eyelids,
a throb & pulse
trying to figure out
which came first:
the stye, the bulge,
a tumor or the awareness
that something
must be different
under the eyelid
to see my partner’s lips
in such fuzzy details.
the body owes me
you vassal of decay.
cold shower burned skin.
you wake up early
& do me no good.
you sleep in late
& do me no good.
you chipped tooth
& pocked ears,
lips dry & mouth
full of sores.
how am i supposed
to use you
if you don’t want
to be used.
you say
you a shrine,
you a monastery
for humanity.
earth’s greatest creation;
jaw, ribs & cock & all.
but you broken.
given me all
i didn’t ask for;
jaw, ribs & cock & all.
you owe me more,
please. you only 29
acting 80. vitreous fluid,
rashed thighs, toenail
birthing into the skin
& when i want what’s mine:
no pain, no ache,
no tangle of limbs
& flesh torn,
no glacial extremities,
under three blankets.
no salt-rich sweat
under three blankets.
no confusion. no—
you say i have to… i have to work;
you say you can’t be rebuilt from nothing.
***
Photograph of lukas ray hall by Tucker Wilhelm.