billboard

if i had a billboard i'd fill it with teeth.
make it chomp down on all the little ant people.
we'd sleep inside a peapod & get angry 
at the light. i once saw a man who lives
inside a billboard. he came out to shake his fist
at a passing amazon truck. i do not know
what he eats but i also don't know what
i eat. there is a tiny door on the backside 
of the billboard where he goes inside.
becomes two-dimensional. dreams of having
a family live flat with him backstage of
the great shout. on really dark nights when
the stars go on vacation & every the trucks
are burrowed like cicadas, he dreams about
what he'd put on a billboard. he is not like me.
he wants nothing to do with teeth. instead he
considers fingers & then he considers eyes.
eyes are his favorite body part. he prefers them
shut because those are rarer. people are always staring
right into his guts. he buys a bulletproof vest
in the hopes of preventing that kind
of intrusion. someone asked me one day
when i was gathering a bag of teeth,
"what was your favorite thing about living
inside a billboard?" i do not remember my time
there at all. i suppose it is possible that we all
get time there. maybe we are grown
like pre-disciples. i do not know much about
who or what i worship but i know it has teeth.
i know it could bite my hands off. i pass an 
empty billboard & so i cover it just as i've always
dreamed. all the mouths moving like wing beats.
the ghost of the billboard man rises to beg me
to stop. i tell him, "what is done is done."
he weeps & i tell him we can get devoured together
if that makes him feel better. so we get mashed up.
the relief of being matter again. think that is
what the back layers of the signs feel. finally,
nothing else to say but flavor. a star, when ripe
tastes like sweet deer jerky. chewy sinew.
the ringing of a heavy bell down the throat.