Don’t talk to Christopher Nelms
He’s hatching an egg in his mouth
And if he speaks
He might drop it
Or if he didn’t drop it
The words might penetrate the egg
And the bird emerge all weird
With a face in its hand and an eye in its ear.
Don’t talk to J. Matherly
He’s hiding immigrants in his gums
And under his tongue
And in the ragged hole left by his wisdom teeth
And if he speaks he might turn them to bullets
To shoot you straight through your curdled heart!
