He dealt in bones, and the uncaring of them
their firm yellowness, roots moving upwards
As if to nourish some great sky-tree.
They were necessary in their pretentiousness, he said.
For without a tooth, a man may beg his bread
but starve in the doing of it. So, an upward drill
Was necessary. And what he took
(the after-effects of nectar, an ambrosial hangover)
he replaced with porcelain and sealing wax.
Dull meat of human hands, yes; but it would serve,
a reminder that seven a.m. orgies of Keats and Spanish
Were no excuse to let the tree roots rot.

A plastic toothbrush for a lollypop,
And I was gone.
And so was he, just like that
How funny, how sad we people are.

He dealt in lovely bones, and the uncaring of them.
He had such hands could sculpt a face without touching.
And unlike Pygmalion, he was not too clever or too right.
He'd gladly trade the secrets of his craft,
if only so Galatea could smile again
without showing the world how deep and irrevocable
she'd hurt herself this time.
For there are several ways to cut and burn
deeper than flesh; the people of his trade
Saw such things each day. And how these plastic subjects
(Objects, really) smiled for all the world
to show their brokenness and in decay
Say "I was here" before their jaws crumbled away!
So he would bind my self-infliction with perfection,
"What will it be today, JoSelle? White or silver?"

A plastic toothbrush for a lollypop,
And I was gone.
And so was he, just like that.
How funny, how sad we people are.

He dealt in bones, and now he is returned.
I'd often wonder, when I was a child
why gravestones in the courtyard near my house
resembled incisors. Now, I am older
and I think I understand.
He was great in his plainness in a season
of porcelain jaws smashing down on silver screens
so we may be like those without decay
Who smile so bright, we think they must not cry.
He was Ulysses without the upstart pride
fit for lightning and exile — no hubris
Felled him in his work. It was his heart.
I've heard it loses blood each time we sigh
And ever expands outwards 'til it fills
The entire universe, and gets trapped upon
roofs of mouths which fast resemble sky.
He will be bones again, his finest artistry,
because he is the way that all men die —

A plastic toothbrush for a lollypop,
And he is gone
And you are gone
And I...
Just like that

A strange and funny people that we are
To catch our breaking jaws around the sun
And even as we fall, we smile and burn.