Spirals.

It crunches like old ice,
fizzled and depleted in those trays.
Banished freezer-ward and never retrieved.
I lick the edge of my mouth,
and concentrate on taste,
on the creation of noise,
teeth driving down.

I'm trapping thoughts as we speak.
If you're speaking.
I have little hare-cages and snapping raccoon traps.
I'm snapping them up in my great jaws,
and you'll never see them again.
Disintegrated by my stomach fluid.