Needles to Say
What butterflies. Do you mean
this pincushion. In my throat.
Can the voice slither between
the spikes of a burr, float
through half-chewed pine
or pinprick needle eyes.
Well, can you hear me fine.
Hand me that First Prize
for Oral and Dental Fortitude.
I’d like to thank the phonograph,
its single fang that protrudes
to speak on the vinyl’s behalf.