Second Mouth

Other-lips     whispering     between my legs.

What they called black hole     not-thing

is really packed full of secrets.     A rebel mouth

testifying from the underside.     Careful

not to let it     speak too loudly.     Only hum

demure     in polite company — never laugh

or spit on the sidewalk     or complain

lest we both be dragged     under the wheels of

one of those.     Or worse     coddled

smiled at     as at a lapdog acting wolf.

Or worse     called ugly     a cruel joke. Or — 

there are always     worse things.

Too many messengers     shot.     But then

who wouldn’t fear     an eyeless face

whose ghost stories     always     come true?