99% nothing

(written in the weeeee hours of this morning)



could Nothing, then, have come this far?
it's 99 percent of stars
and all that lives, and life in lonely seasons

you have to laugh; it's like a joke
what if the living Word misspoke?
no way to tell just which of them you're pleasin'

they're shoulderblades you just can't reach
they're mermaids singing, each to each
let's hope some god presents us with a reason

or else the world we've made endures
dead wrong, headstrong and so cocksure
a god who shrugs, "you did the same to Me, son."