The Dentistry of Souls

My turtle heart
shelled, slow-going,
battles the mourning
of art lost.

Mortars, hurdles,
and marathon tellings
rattle the showroom
cages where hurt sells.

Commercials dart
poisonous paths
to personal hells,
dipping into my inkwell.

The dentistry of souls
pulls the smile
from my mouth’s shelves
citing indecency at the trial.