Ken Cormier


I cleanse my palette,

uvula and glottis delightfully refreshed,

tongue rippling muscular and wet, segmented.


Cornucopia of razor blades,

each cactus swallow scream,

lip split to chin, secret teeth revealed!


I chew my palette,

grind it into paste and swish.

This drink of deception,

this sensory milkshake.


At table I spit into paper cup.

While napping, I rewind the day.


Such tainted visions!

What fiendish cud!