Searching through the forest,
chasing dreams your sleep has wagered

And finding yourself in the mindless
spatial wasteland

You play two-handed poker
with the devil of your fright

The Prince holding just one card,
as you gamble it all…

Forever promising:
“This hand will be your ticket out”

He deals chance from the bottom,
this third time to be the charm

Your hand is folded,
as the present fires upon the night

Hitting your fate dead center,
all that’s left in quicker sand

Drowning the last excuse
of your bloodless past refusals

Salvation left in full retreat
—all exits thrice denied

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)