I
may
play the
joker, *****
the knave, covet
the queen, and tuck
the ace of spades under my
pillow on a ringed moon night,
but I am forever shuffling the same
deck of cards. Marked cards, imprinted
with loss and patterned with misfortune. Co
urt cards dressed in ill-fitting suits, each face as
familiar as my own. Four seasons, four pips; twelve
months, twelve crowns. One card for each week of the
year. Sequentially pred  ictable, and as underwhelming
as a rigged roulette wheel. U ntil, unable to distinguish
between the red and the    b    lack, the picture and the
plain, I fold. Void of      co     ntracts, and bleeding
widowe                            d blanks.
.....So.....
deal­ me in,
but deal me unpainted
and unmastered. Deal me clean.

They mumbled on me,
For something I never did.
You were my alibi there,
But you just disappeared.
Was my suavity the reason?
Or am i a knave to you?
I was in a daze,
And all I needed was a tender touch.
Don't know the reason for your wrath,
I can only blame these rotten days.