"th" sound

i planted thistle 
in the throat of a false god.
haven't you ever thrown
your head too far?
the yesterdays i vanished 
searching for that lighthouse.
my eyes, turned into dart boards
for any kind of wondering thrist.
he thrashed which is to say he put
his tongue behind his teeth 
& formed a pilot. paper airplanes
we thrust at the enemy.
the enemy, just a mask of pinwheels.
thumbless men who eat 
without their hands. lips pressed
to the golden plate. i never thought
i would have to call in a favor
from the thread keepers.
they weave me a vest. a vest of
thousands of gems. glitter or 
gutter. we need a new place
to put our vowels. i do not have
enough pockets or thank you notes 
to harbor this kind of push.
pressure against a porthole. 
the airplane flies & forgets
in a blaze of thunder. i call a radio tower
& then everyone can hear my thoughts.
i am saying, "i used to have teeth.
i used to have a thong." it's incredibly embarassing
to have a daliance with a sound. 
the words come back to me 
in flocks. thrive, thick, thaw.
the softness i always needed to reach
another morning. th all over again.
birds opening their th in the dawn.
a th in the mailbox & a th 
waiting to pounce. there aren't
enough words to tell you exactly how
i have been losing all my language 
to the hole in the basement. thorns 
in my bed. thrifting another mouth.
a thimble of honey. a throne of rice. 

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