From God, His Blistered Lips

by Jim Kopetz

You're so contagious,
when you laugh.

Your outfits,
so stylish.
Your infantile
melancholy.
Your childish,
outbursts.
Your gods,
and your monsters.

You wish for,
something better.
You wish for,
something more.
And you work, 
as a lush,
with blushing cheeks.

What will come next?
And infant,
suckling god.
Will he stress?
Will he regress?
With blood,
dripping,
from blistered lips. 

So she ran.