My Dentist Loves Jesus

My dentist loves Jesus.

(I am not being facetious;

he loves Jesus. This I know.)

If I close my eyes

and open my mouth wide,

I can make my mind move

away from my mouth;

not far away. Just inside the

inner lining of my head:

my dentist works swiftly.

Jesus’ body, gold,

radiant, is painted on the

inner walls of my brain.

Gold paint fills the cells

in the left lining of my head; glittery,

high-sinking gold now painted

into the right inner skull tissues;

heavy gray matter is dull in

color, by contrast, as if nothing

matters but the harsh drilling sound

as old tooth chips off, flies out. Gritty chunk,

metal and bone fragments,


My dentist sweats as he works,

upper lip beaded now.

Focusing, face five inches from my own


he strives to perfect the dig, the unearthing;

the hole; the filling of the hole.

Mouth edges tremble.


Inside the head are the silver brains;

centimeters away are the painters—

winged painters of the

golden sun-paint seeping into head-cells,

as if my head is a beautiful

beehive, filled with honeycomb,

dripping in light.

I have fallen asleep.

Anything to avoid pain.

Strong-armed angels prop open the


hands fly across my chest; whishwhir

of the vacuum tube, stuck loudly in the


hung on the driest of lips.

Still I remain quiet.



Before my cranial murals are fully yellow,

the visit is over.

He wipes his brow.

I love my dentist.

Copyright © 1999-2018 Juked