They are trying to take my teeth. Taking out different ones and tossing them away or just replacing them in the same gum holes when they realise they are no good. They are looking for one that can take an implant. Teeth

everywhere. Falling out. Too many overflowing from my mouth. Horrible, helpless sensation. I keep finding them in my hand. Dry. Bone. Enamel. Silver fragments of filling.

They keep finding things wrong. Some teeth are too small, with massive long twisted, elaborate root systems. Some are huge and bulbous, like mutated potatoes. Some already have implants inside somehow. This appears to be a source of confusion and serious concern to them.

My teeth can play music. Bizarro world sensation. Each tooth plays multiple sounds and notes when I open and close my mouth. It is very strange at first. Mouth farting clumsy noises like an entire band of mouth

organs and accordions being tuned up. Starts to become intuitive. Simple. Natural. I’m able to play music just by opening and closing my mouth. The teeth don’t move at all, although it feels like they should move like keys.

I am playing an elaborate version of the tune from Close Encounters. Funny. Hilarious. I wake up laughing and smiling. Later, can’t shake a strange remnant that this was all just another layer of the dream designed to obscure what they were really doing to me.

…
Chris Stephenson is a visual/collage artist, poet and small press publisher based in Leeds, England. He is the author of several experimental poetry collections including Revenge of The Mirror People (Stranger Press), Napoli Metro Bad Dream Sequence (Blart Books), No Ideas But In Things ( Dark Windows Press), Constellations (zimzalla). Some of his recent work can be found online at Angry Old Man Magazine, five2one Magazine, Burning House Press and Erotoplasty