what men do with their mouths
Bio for c.r avery
By P. Smith
cue the frenzied combo of molar and spit.
his tongue touches every chroma on its way to blue.
he’s been rinsing with gravel, flossing with wire
and chewing brick again, he’s been a bad, bad boy.
but he is crackerjack conjurer of washboards and
rubber, even suburb girls welcome the twinging. i
want to nibble yesterday’s corona from his chin, rub
my index finger along the surface of his laugh, pull
the maw open to check the slick road of his throat.
there’s something illegal going on down there, the
sweet keening of ancient instruments. the orchestra
is fidgety, click-hipped, steaming inside that skin.
the boy opens the beauteous and, in gut rendering,
words become both otherwise and everything.