Fistfuls of teething,
 hot and wet like sand, 
a mocking curse, screeching 
and grinding over one another, 
flooding through windows and baseboards, 
cascading over chandeliers and 
down hallways, clashing and clattering
chattering like the frosty duels of rutting
 November bucks
filling me up, burning hot
like a drill from dentists' days

skewered and chewed
caught and crushed
a morsel amongst gods
tossed into an impossibly strong machine
cold and mechanical 
my flavor is easily lost in 
a wash of blood, with little pain.