Monday, 19 October 2015

All In.

The table
Hexagonal in its facetism
Like a spinning wheel
Stop point dedicated
To a purpose unknown but finite.

The players
Still dealing, wheeling.
Wiling, bluffing, smiling
Unsure but certain
That the next will be better.

The cards
Face down, anonymous.
Are you sure?
Random acts of power and subservience,
ordered by chance of pattern.

Smiles embraced by knuckles.

My hand
In my hands
Glows, and grows.
Conceited in its knowledge
Of my knowledge and appreciation.

Fate winks, its eye contact broken,
Previously boring,
Glinting a hint at an ending.

The promise of the payoff.

The fix fixed.

Hands up? A smirk.
No, hands down
Proud, splaying, wanton in
Anticipation, reclining
In the praise that must now seep

Like treacle through fingers.

Read them and weep.

The scroll unfurls, the commandments
The seductress scurries
Aged and warted by the glare –
The attention.

An osmosis of dryness.
A departure of faith.
The odds rotten,
No longer delicious.


The obstinence of loss
Of something never quite completed.
More poignant in its potency – its potential perfection
Spurned, sullied, now sodden
With ingratitude and arrogance.

The table
Hexagonal in its facetism
Like a spinning wheel.

A carousel of apologies.

Smiling in its clairvoyance
Promise in its complicity.
Invites me back.


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