morning breath



almost common, the
untwisting of the black cap
to the nitric acid on
the tiled bathroom shelf,
glass knocking gently.
i pour the solution into
a peach mouthwash cup
bought three years ago, before
the maddening hyperactivity 
of stanford university.
add a faucet-twist of water
and it foams.  almost
listerine, the glass clink
and pouring; disinfect your 
breath.  supposedly, i'm
"driven to despair, anxious, 
and hopeless", but this
solution will quell a
long stretch of intense
pain.  i have always been
utilitarian:  the guillotine
is preferred.  but wearily,
lifting the cup to the lips
is not easy.  imaginations of
the twitching, the burning,
and the irreversibility
stay the hand.  so, slowly,
this lifelessness will pass 
another day, another week, and
another month,  
perhaps.



--jennifer crystal chien