Tuesday, March 18, 2014

PARALYSIS OF THE POKER FACE

I swear—the only three cards
I'm willing
to plunk down anymore

at the madcap green 
table where all 
of the boldest  

and longest-
toothed gamblers in rumpled-
up tuxes are gathered

each make the following 
milkywhite faces—
weak 
lean 
and leery.

Brash!—
was a feckless 
and deplorable
and beautiful bold forth kind

I once 
would have trembled—like a fiend
to throw down;

but that—was before

I first got
a little—
too used 

to the constant 
and excruciating-
ly great pangs
of hunger—and accordingly 

shrank down 
in form 
and in stature—in fierce hunched protection

of that palefaced 
and 
softboned 
and
stark-raving carcass-

about-town—
of 
stupid little child

of an idea—
that I can't just unhave now.

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