Cineplex, Fire Exit

Cineplex Fire Exit

We go to the Cineplex like some go get mega-churched,
but your truth French-cactuses my tongue

during previews, known in marketing as premonitions.
Air-conditioned caramel sticks in my fillings, scolds me

of the form-fitting mouth-guard at home for not clenching
molars, incisors, the shut-up, don’t-say-it,

that Plasticine “everything’s alright here.” I could lose
a tooth, pathway to the grave, and you’re a sad-

sack of wet popcorn as the film hovers
through the darkness like the USS Enterprise.

My brain …

More In: Poetry