Spare Gold
Spare Gold
Cleveland's streets are wet black ink
With the fog of breath crawling up the pavement, an even speed
I trade corners under a green light
Fishing in the spare blank of a pocket
As it rests there now
Knowing, for another dry day, it could buy me a few bites
Maybe a room with cigarette burns on the floor
Maybe a date with the owner of the pawn store
So effortlessly I taste the wind
Sampling what I've already lost, given
I wear another ring now
Under my left eye, it rises
Like the sin of the moon on skin
Still fingering the gold of a hidden treasure
I keep it a secret, this cast-off wedding ring
It was so much easier to remove
Than the stale freezer burn cupcakes, we never ate
They were omens- the trashing of our untouched reception cake
The bug crawling out of your boutineer
The creep at the gas station
No rental cars that weekend
Maybe I should send this gold back over the border
Pay it to the cartel for your release
Give these inky roads something new to write