There at my throat back, venus fly trap sprouts.
Noticed when I woke to teeth grinding, my night ritual.
But this time, a sour bug taste instead of iron grit.
A buzzing glimmer, then
My mouth zapped shut inside my mouth.
Teeth under teeth.
I pressed inside at long needles stabbing my finger, clamping down.
Stinging blood on my prints, jerking away.
Afraid of the mirror but too curious to avoid.
A shower to clear head, wash face, keep jaw closed.
Wiped fog off glass, plucked brows and brushed hair,
But to clean teeth, I had to open.
And inside, this monster plant glaring whites open for a brush too.
I snapped my clamp back shut, resigned to silent halitosis.
Process notes on a work in progress. This page serves to invite you into the way I work, with intermittent posts to show you the hows and whys on the whats I make, as well as prompts and ideas I bring to certain workshops. There will also be some raw, rough content found in notebooks written years ago, previously posted on: