i've ground my teeth since i was little

days,

more and more they bring stains
to this once pearly landscape

as coffee and tea and singing
whip through the deep cream valleys
with their storms.

soft and haughty and rapid
rains came,
all by different names.

alas,
weather does and does and will
change,
so the scorching sun of silence, too
came -
all of these have marked the days.

the craggy land can't
quite stand
too much frost
or strong sun strands
over the valleys -
it's fragile, you understand -

too much silence,
too much time
stagnant,
spent wrong,
spent waiting -
such ticking time,
inadequate syllables -
the time,
the age and the pressing,
the time! -

all make the nights.
at nighttime,

jutting, off-white fog
grinds
 over those sick snow mountains -

a big long bite
someone's broken necklace
cast not even for swine

the valleys grow

deeper
and weaker