By Will Grofic
Their ancestors chewed and chucked to the street,
our feet strengthened an underworld.
Their god was human and everywhere,
glued under tables and chairs. The unemployed
are trees before the suck, this is the world’s sap,
the spruce’s saliva. They expand with air
but cannot fly. The sudden pop is potential,
resin when hunger sets in. I have gnawed bone,
blackened eye sockets beyond burial.
Underneath the tongue, burial is in all walks of life,
sniveling to be reborn. This confection in resin
resembles plastered tiles and leaves, imprinted
in our walls. A frozen pudding, a saccharine fire
thaws, the smack under a tongue switch.
Remember this is everything, don’t screw it up.
Spit it where a sole won’t step, where it can’t hold on.