My Thoughts During Your Math Lecture
Lately I've been thinking about the percussion of tongue-
That tongue that hits the roof of your mouth
and smacks down again
and again
and again
just to revitalize the way that I'm breathing
And sleeping
And dreaming
The words
You spit, they clack
Boom.
Together like my clenched fists
Clenched jaw line
There's beauty,
Of that angle
Geometry, of fondness when it is undefined; when it does not exist
When
And where
My tongue remains stuck behind my own teeth.
Built in barricade to keep from causing tidal waves
and earthquakes
And the sun bakes
but I can't eat that
no, not with these lips.
Lips pursed, but no purse to fill the emotional dips and
Compliment the hips
No my eyes are here. They,
As my lips,
have not moved
Yet.
Moving forward,
History is not visual but
Visually I see you, the bruises on
The backs of your heels make you walk faster
But slower are your eyes;
Eyelids droop with the curves of your lips
Kindergartener zips
High schooler trips
Trips to take away from classroom
Class present
Presenting future
Future run by past
Past time to pass time with
my ass in a plastic chair
My mind not so easily
Casted, yet
fast-imprisoned;
Prisoner of chair to floor
Floored by blackboards
And blacked out
But still seeing
Because my eyes are still there-
Percussion in the background
The foreground, battleground
Knowledge.
Knowing my pursed lips keep zipped the zipper of my thoughts thinking of my barrier buried beneath years of
Spit
Clack
Boom
Fists
Jaw
Eyes
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