God’s gum wrapper has a fortune on it & I wonder if he’s the one who wrote it
Pretty honey born from a blush &
love when you sink your teeth like
that. There’s something humming
that doesn’t know it’s alive and it
cries when you give it a name.
Say, that’s what makes something
real, right? Name it & seal it & keep
it in your pocket. But oh, honey. God
never did us that good. We’re the gum
on his shoe, not the marble in his pocket.
Baby blush says: we’ve got halos,
somewhere. Somewhere that’s not
here, and they shine something awful,
probably. & yeah, the gum knows. Honey
made sure of that.
Here, we’re the ones crying under the
crushing weight of pockets & begging.
Here, blush is just blood and we’re full
The act of being named doesn’t bring
creation, but it sure does damn it into
being. The gum is bleeding proof &
the marble still hasn’t shown itself.
Blush says, that has to count for some
thing. All of the tears out here, maybe.
Laugh & that thing just named is
still humming like it can’t tell the difference
between gum and marble. Count the tears
falling between all these names, and we’ll
pretend the pocket isn’t flooding.