Omnivore

I had a tooth ask me for breakfast yesterday. I said, toast and jam, coffee and laxatives, as usual. The mouth is a weird instrument. It plays beetles and worms when I'm asleep. I'm not surprised that bugs slip through the windows into my dreams. The eyes let it happen. Connected to the brain by delicate spider strands of bullets, they shoot nightmares into my lungs. Ten times a night I wake up out of breath, wondering if God has shut down existence forever. What would it be like to be inside a coffin, dead but alive, knowing there was no way out? I promise the tooth it will also eat dinner. Carnivores love their flesh, omnivores like me understand that they are that.