Goddamn, my mouth has many uses

He has a mouth on him. Yes, bitch. 

But allow me this amendment: 

I've had several mouths on me, 

sometimes simultaneously, but let's 

not go there now. Suffice it to say 

God gave me two ears & one mouth 

for reasons I've been unconvinced by. 

Goddamn, my mouth has many uses: 

eat, sing, bite, kiss, but most of all 

insinuate. Have you ever been sucked 

by the cups of an octopus's underside? 

It's a daily special I highly recommend 

to the critics who might say some words 

don't belong in poems. Just because 

you won't twirl the legs of a live octopus 

due to texture or fear of asphyxiation 

doesn't mean it won't taste good. Taste 

is what the octopus does on its way down 

with its tentacles. The language in question 

is like that. It's a squishy, worm-like squirm, 

can contort and go down the wrong pipe. 

If some words don't belong in poems, then 

I say some people can go fuck themselves. 

Just kidding, I don't really say that because 

they might actually enjoy it, if they could only 

let themselves relax. Here's a word I never 

thought I'd have occasion to use in a poem: 

poppers. One whiff and even a no-vice novice 

could let the sphincter open just long enough 

for this octopus to pass: uvula violet vulva. 

 

[Benjamin Garcia, 'The Language in Question', from Thrown in the Throat]