wisdom teeth

sometimes my face is a radio.
i open my mouth & all the airplanes 
are talking about when & how they can land.
i don't think i would last
up in the space station. i like gravity 
too much. pin me to the ground.
i used to like to lay on my back 
& look up at the clouds & then i learned
about bugs. they always come 
to plant their little flags in my hair.
i tell them, "i'm already taken."
we are done kissing & i point to my 
wisdom teeth all the way at the back
of my mouth. i explain, "i stopped going
to the dentist in high school."
you look at them. see the little citadels.
the tiny creatures who live there
writing books no one will read. 
i think the teeth are going to be the only
wise part about me. it's probably overrated anyway.
who wants to know more than their
little pizza slice of horrors? not me.
i want to be ancient. i want someone 
to find my skull & title it something like,
"average transexual." all my teeth, including
my wise ones & my dog ones & the ones
that were supposed to fall out but never did.
i find a helicopter on the roof. 
lock the windows in case they are
trying to get inside. you can a lot about someone
based on how they bite down
on something delicious. my brother & i
used to try to eat donuts in one mouthful
when we finally got a hold of one. 
our bursting cheeks. the sweetness 
like a fist to the tongue. some people,
i am told, never feel this hungry.
my teeth rattle at night like bell acolytes. 
i clench my jaw to make them stop.
still, they try to ring. i have read they might be
trying to talk to the moon. i would understand.
they are kindred spirits, dull white
& pock marked. ready to eat the sun.