The jut and cut of unripe pear
which clings in strings
around the teeth that
form these words,
strengthens the pulse, the pressure
pressing steadily there —
in the boiling passion of the mind —
(the third convolution behind the eyes).
This pear pairs with the pith
of tea bags, wrung and zingy,
to bite the brainstem and form
a budding flower with the digits
of its bloody jaw.
It’s this flower you are reading.
Feel its heady scent
and live.
