Want To See Me Cry? Here Goes! Poem by Long Tooth

So, what do you think it would take to make
A poor poet, a man past his prime, for sure,
Cry, for long opaque reservoirs of mineral salts
To spill at last? Not all that much I hear you say,
(Who stereotypes so easily) , though I fear that you're right,
For feelings bottled tight from childhood, most men
Keep inside, but unlike Old Faithful, sometimes "Cold
Fusion" is to blame, an internal rock slide fracked loose,
By injected pain, squeezes what was never meant to see
The light of day, suddenly, through liquified rock,
As if to prove to all that feelings denied are like God
And the only thing about a real poet that lasts are
Stalactites growing in some hidden chamber of the heart.


Long Tooth
April 7,2018