My Big Mouth

my big mouth
let the words slip
and the dreams fall out

her face detached
and slipped down across her shirt
her lips drooping in the tumble;
and the visage pretty as a porcelain plate
shattered at my feet

all of my hoarse throats
and all of my mensa
couldn't get the yolk
back into her head, so

it was a columbus route home,
bending backwards around the world
while my brain absorbed the novocaine
from my big mouth
and its swollen wound of rejection
subsides in time, leaving room
for another visit from my foot.