Through Shining Glass:
1. The Potter
Ah my dear
what a smile you have
I itch to ask:
does your mouth smile your teeth, or --
do these illustrious teeth smile your mouth?
(Handsomely crooked devils: they leer
with content/discontent... O my Crocodile!)
Bitter, cynical, they gleam: say silkily
...You May Trust Me, My Dear
(while they glint red as daggers)
Rogue incisors and bicuspids
bow and quiver for cruel masters --
slaves to those Eyeteeth,
whose fierce glory is rending power:
Raw charm drives the motley crooked bunch,
slyly extorts compliance from your lips (who acquiesce)
to reveal that languid, glaring smile
(which engulfs your very face, neatly
swallowing you whole)
Daring to mock the glazed flashing broadness
of high-voltage glamour, you play
High Camp to perfection: bewildering me
with sincere/insincerity -- cheesecake leer, or --
broad inner joy? You laugh at all that:
mesmerizing masterfully
Indeed, for a potter
your teeth laugh hauntingly
at your hands
What a smile you have
All the better...you rejoin,
menacing (apologetically)
-- and then you pause,
© 1977, Carin Perron
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