Raymond Luczak
TONGUE
When I close my mouth,
I feel the security blanket
of my tongue huddled
against the roof of
my St. Louis Arch
where alms for hunger
waterfall into the pits
of my burning hell.
May my tongue stopple
the bile rising from
what I’ve had to consume
in order to appreciate
the few rosebuds of sweet.
Each time I eat, I atone.