t-rex dentures 

my mouth fossilized & became scavenger.
tore of pieces of carrion. talked only
to vulutres. circled above & spat
black feathers into the pillow. an intertube
to keep us afloat. downpour but not forecasted.
a hand open to catch the wind. my teeth
formed a chorus. held their hymnals
& asked if we were ever going to own a fence.
sleeping in the footprints of strangers,
i often ask, "what did you once want to be?"
a boy replied once, "i wanted to be a dog."
another, still naked, said, "a tree."
i said, "for me i wanted to be a dinosaur."
buying lizards & asking them to show me 
how to excavate my dna for prehistory.
teeth growing ripe on trees. paleontologists
in my medicine cabinet, sneaking out at night
to gaze down my throat. whenever i lose 
i replace the empty space with a t-rex tooth.
stuffed in the corners of my heart. an elbow.
a memory. a new jaw waits for me.
he knocks on my door a half hour after he left
& he asks, "are you still there?"
i slip into the closet where ferns grow wild.
not a boy anymore. all reptile & carnivore.
"hello?" he asks again. i taste the air.
eventually he departs & when i return
there is no bedroom, just a field of televisions.
shows we once watched. one night can be a whole species.
my skeleton splayed out. a paleontologist bent over
& saying, "i hope you don't mind but i need
to take a picture."