into mud

When you bite your jacket,

you taste the salt that has soaked in,

all the times you have worn it.

But there is no detaching-

you have sunken your teeth into a moment.

You can't let go,

the world might resent them; the words that will spit themselves out into orbit, they might sound like cracked doors you've locked shut.

Zipper-tough, damp, thick,

the wall you refuse to permeate. 

The salt sinks into your tongue and down through your feet.

The road is icy, the road is wet,

your teeth are doing your neighbors a favor,

you say. A favor

and the roads will be clear and your lips will stay clamped shut and this will melt the ground.

Melt it so much that it morphs into mud.