For Daws to Peck at

by Lesley Graham

Bite your tongue girl, bite it hard,
no need to expose the squibs of your heart.
When the talk lulls, look skywards 
then bite down till you taste the sulphur fizz 
of spent verbiage. Do not, I must repeat, 
do not launch that unclad, half-formed thought.
Instead, let each fleeting notion implode in 
damp pink hues, like an anemone
behind your incisors, then chomp down fast.
Better dead in the mouth, than offered up
for daws to peck at.