loose moon

my dog's teeth are starting to come loose.
i tell her, "bite down." that is what i do.
no one else is allowed to get older. 
i find celebrity deaths upsetting even when
i don't know who the person was because they
come & go so fast. i'm like damn is 
that as long as we get? even if they put
our face in a worship caldron? 
the moon wiggles when i fuss with it.
you scold me, "leave it alone."
if i were a tree i'd be the first to spit out
my fingers in the fall. i buy some gorilla glue
& twine. get the step stool out
to go & try to help the moon. it covers
its face & whines. my uncle still has
all of his baby teeth. stalactites (& mites).
i always wondered what it would take
for the new ones to come in. is there
a new moon beneath the old? 
in some early legends of the moon 
people believed it grew like a fruit,
ripening just to be eaten over & over
bite by bite. i have a nail gun. i have a mirror.
i know i can get the moon to stay full 
of salmon & wings. a rainstorm is rolling in.
there are not enough hours to sleep.
i cut myself down the middle. send one half
to make sure the moon does not come loose
& the other to burrow in the ground.
i taste soil between my teeth.
a bruise the size of my father's fist
lives on the moon's cheek. i stroke its head.
feed it bread & butter pickles. i tell it,
"hold your breath" but not "exhale."