Friday, June 28, 2024


Relationships are gambles, 
and gamblers are unstable. 

But still, we covet 
the loose bits of one another 

and are greedy to collect them,
like the chips around a blackjack table. 

We think that we're entitled,
when really, we're impaired— 

like a judge who's only privy 
to one half of a conversation

between that love which is stable 
and that love which longs to flee—

between an insubstantial ghost 
and his ponderous machine—

between matter's gauche 

and the beautiful 

of its conversion 
into energy.