IV. TO HERMES (582 lines)

(ll. 1-29) Muse, sing of Hermes, the son of Zeus and Maia, lord
of Cyllene and Arcadia rich in flocks, the luck-bringing
messenger of the immortals whom Maia bare, the rich-tressed
nymph, when she was joined in love with Zeus, -- a shy goddess,
for she avoided the company of the blessed gods, and lived within
a deep, shady cave.  There the son of Cronos used to lie with the
rich-tressed nymph, unseen by deathless gods and mortal men, at
dead of night while sweet sleep should hold white-armed Hera
fast.  And when the purpose of great Zeus was fixed in heaven,
she was delivered and a notable thing was come to pass.  For then
she bare a son, of many shifts, blandly cunning, a robber, a
cattle driver, a bringer of dreams, a watcher by night, a thief
at the gates, one who was soon to show forth wonderful deeds
among the deathless gods.  Born with the dawning, at mid-day he
played on the lyre, and in the evening he stole the cattle of
far-shooting Apollo on the fourth day of the month; for on that
day queenly Maia bare him.  So soon as he had leaped from his
mother's heavenly womb, he lay not long waiting in his holy
cradle, but he sprang up and sought the oxen of Apollo.  But as
he stepped over the threshold of the high-roofed cave, he found a
tortoise there and gained endless delight.  For it was Hermes who
first made the tortoise a singer.  The creature fell in his way
at the courtyard gate, where it was feeding on the rich grass
before the dwelling, waddling along.  When be saw it, the luck-
bringing son of Zeus laughed and said:

(ll. 30-38) 'An omen of great luck for me so soon!  I do not
slight it.  Hail, comrade of the feast, lovely in shape, sounding
at the dance!  With joy I meet you!  Where got you that rich gaud
for covering, that spangled shell -- a tortoise living in the
mountains?  But I will take and carry you within: you shall help
me and I will do you no disgrace, though first of all you must
profit me.  It is better to be at home: harm may come out of
doors.  Living, you shall be a spell against mischievous
witchcraft (13); but if you die, then you shall make sweetest
song.

(ll. 39-61) Thus speaking, he took up the tortoise in both hands
and went back into the house carrying his charming toy.  Then he
cut off its limbs and scooped out the marrow of the mountain-
tortoise with a scoop of grey iron.  As a swift thought darts
through the heart of a man when thronging cares haunt him, or as
bright glances flash from the eye, so glorious Hermes planned
both thought and deed at once.  He cut stalks of reed to measure
and fixed them, fastening their ends across the back and through
the shell of the tortoise, and then stretched ox hide all over it
by his skill.  Also he put in the horns and fitted a cross-piece
upon the two of them, and stretched seven strings of sheep-gut.
But when he had made it he proved each string in turn with the
key, as he held the lovely thing.  At the touch of his hand it
sounded marvellously; and, as he tried it, the god sang sweet
random snatches, even as youths bandy taunts at festivals.  He
sang of Zeus the son of Cronos and neat-shod Maia, the converse
which they had before in the comradeship of love, telling all the
glorious tale of his own begetting.  He celebrated, too, the
handmaids of the nymph, and her bright home, and the tripods all
about the house, and the abundant cauldrons.

(ll. 62-67) But while he was singing of all these, his heart was
bent on other matters.  And he took the hollow lyre and laid it
in his sacred cradle, and sprang from the sweet-smelling hall to
a watch-place, pondering sheet trickery in his heart -- deeds
such as knavish folk pursue in the dark night-time; for he longed
to taste flesh.

(ll. 68-86) The Sun was going down beneath the earth towards
Ocean with his horses and chariot when Hermes came hurrying to
the shadowy mountains of Pieria, where the divine cattle of the
blessed gods had their steads and grazed the pleasant, unmown
meadows.  Of these the Son of Maia, the sharp-eyed slayer of
Argus then cut off from the herd fifty loud-lowing kine, and
drove them straggling-wise across a sandy place, turning their
hoof-prints aside.  Also, he bethought him of a crafty ruse and
reversed the marks of their hoofs, making the front behind and
the hind before, while he himself walked the other way (14).
Then he wove sandals with wicker-work by the sand of the sea,
wonderful things, unthought of, unimagined; for he mixed together
tamarisk and myrtle-twigs, fastening together an armful of their
fresh, young wood, and tied them, leaves and all securely under
his feet as light sandals.  The brushwood the glorious Slayer of
Argus plucked in Pieria as he was preparing for his journey,
making shift (15) as one making haste for a long journey.

(ll. 87-89) But an old man tilling his flowering vineyard saw him
as he was hurrying down the plain through grassy Onchestus.  So
the Son of Maia began and said to him:

(ll. 90-93) 'Old man, digging about your vines with bowed
shoulders, surely you shall have much wine when all these bear
fruit, if you obey me and strictly remember not to have seen what
you have seen, and not to have heard what you have heard, and to
keep silent when nothing of your own is harmed.'

(ll. 94-114) When he had said this much, he hurried the strong
cattle on together: through many shadowy mountains and echoing
gorges and flowery plains glorious Hermes drove them.  And now
the divine night, his dark ally, was mostly passed, and dawn that
sets folk to work was quickly coming on, while bright Selene,
daughter of the lord Pallas, Megamedes' son, had just climbed her
watch-post, when the strong Son of Zeus drove the wide-browed
cattle of Phoebus Apollo to the river Alpheus.  And they came
unwearied to the high-roofed byres and the drinking-troughs that
were before the noble meadow.  Then, after he had well-fed the
loud-bellowing cattle with fodder and driven them into the byre,
close-packed and chewing lotus and began to seek the art of fire.

He chose a stout laurel branch and trimmed it with the knife....
((LACUNA)) (16)
....held firmly in his hand: and the hot smoke rose up.  For it
was Hermes who first invented fire-sticks and fire.  Next he took
many dried sticks and piled them thick and plenty in a sunken
trench: and flame began to glow, spreading afar the blast of
fierce-burning fire.

(ll. 115-137) And while the strength of glorious Hephaestus was
beginning to kindle the fire, he dragged out two lowing, horned
cows close to the fire; for great strength was with him.  He
threw them both panting upon their backs on the ground, and
rolled them on their sides, bending their necks over (17), and
pierced their vital chord.  Then he went on from task to task:
first he cut up the rich, fatted meat, and pierced it with wooden
spits, and roasted flesh and the honourable chine and the paunch
full of dark blood all together.  He laid them there upon the
ground, and spread out the hides on a rugged rock: and so they
are still there many ages afterwards, a long, long time after all
this, and are continually (18).  Next glad-hearted Hermes dragged
the rich meats he had prepared and put them on a smooth, flat
stone, and divided them into twelve portions distributed by lot,
making each portion wholly honourable.  Then glorious Hermes
longed for the sacrificial meat, for the sweet savour wearied
him, god though he was; nevertheless his proud heart was not
prevailed upon to devour the flesh, although he greatly desired
(19).  But he put away the fat and all the flesh in the high-
roofed byre, placing them high up to be a token of his youthful
theft.  And after that he gathered dry sticks and utterly
destroyed with fire all the hoofs and all the heads.

(ll. 138-154) And when the god had duly finished all, he threw
his sandals into deep-eddying Alpheus, and quenched the embers,
covering the black ashes with sand, and so spent the night while
Selene's soft light shone down.  Then the god went straight back
again at dawn to the bright crests of Cyllene, and no one met him
on the long journey either of the blessed gods or mortal men, nor
did any dog bark.  And luck-bringing Hermes, the son of Zeus,
passed edgeways through the key-hole of the hall like the autumn
breeze, even as mist: straight through the cave he went and came
to the rich inner chamber, walking softly, and making no noise as
one might upon the floor.  Then glorious Hermes went hurriedly to
his cradle, wrapping his swaddling clothes about his shoulders as
though he were a feeble babe, and lay playing with the covering
about his knees; but at his left hand he kept close his sweet
lyre.

(ll. 155-161) But the god did not pass unseen by the goddess his
mother; but she said to him: 'How now, you rogue!  Whence come
you back so at night-time, you that wear shamelessness as a
garment?  And now I surely believe the son of Leto will soon have
you forth out of doors with unbreakable cords about your ribs, or
you will live a rogue's life in the glens robbing by whiles.  Go
to, then; your father got you to be a great worry to mortal men
and deathless gods.'

(ll. 162-181) Then Hermes answered her with crafty words:
'Mother, why do you seek to frighten me like a feeble child whose
heart knows few words of blame, a fearful babe that fears its
mother's scolding?  Nay, but I will try whatever plan is best,
and so feed myself and you continually.  We will not be content
to remain here, as you bid, alone of all the gods unfee'd with
offerings and prayers.  Better to live in fellowship with the
deathless gods continually, rich, wealthy, and enjoying stories
of grain, than to sit always in a gloomy cave: and, as regards
honour, I too will enter upon the rite that Apollo has.  If my
father will not give it to me, I will seek -- and I am able -- to
be a prince of robbers.  And if Leto's most glorious son shall
seek me out, I think another and a greater loss will befall him.
For I will go to Pytho to break into his great house, and will
plunder therefrom splendid tripods, and cauldrons, and gold, and
plenty of bright iron, and much apparel; and you shall see it if
you will.'

(ll. 182-189) With such words they spoke together, the son of
Zeus who holds the aegis, and the lady Maia.  Now Eros the early
born was rising from deep-flowing Ocean, bringing light to men,
when Apollo, as he went, came to Onchestus, the lovely grove and
sacred place of the loud-roaring Holder of the Earth.  There he
found an old man grazing his beast along the pathway from his
court-yard fence, and the all-glorious Son of Leto began and said
to him.

(ll. 190-200) 'Old man, weeder (20) of grassy Onchestus, I am
come here from Pieria seeking cattle, cows all of them, all with
curving horns, from my herd.  The black bull was grazing alone
away from the rest, but fierce-eyed hounds followed the cows,
four of them, all of one mind, like men.  These were left behind,
the dogs and the bull -- which is great marvel; but the cows
strayed out of the soft meadow, away from the pasture when the
sun was just going down.  Now tell me this, old man born long
ago: have you seen one passing along behind those cows?'

(ll. 201-211) Then the old man answered him and said: 'My son, it
is hard to tell all that one's eyes see; for many wayfarers pass
to and fro this way, some bent on much evil, and some on good: it
is difficult to know each one.  However, I was digging about my
plot of vineyard all day long until the sun went down, and I
thought, good sir, but I do not know for certain, that I marked a
child, whoever the child was, that followed long-horned cattle --
an infant who had a staff and kept walking from side to side: he
was driving them backwards way, with their heads toward him.'

(ll. 212-218) So said the old man.  And when Apollo heard this
report, he went yet more quickly on his way, and presently,
seeing a long-winged bird, he knew at once by that omen that
thief was the child of Zeus the son of Cronos.  So the lord
Apollo, son of Zeus, hurried on to goodly Pylos seeking his
shambling oxen, and he had his broad shoulders covered with a
dark cloud.  But when the Far-Shooter perceived the tracks, he
cried:

(ll. 219-226) 'Oh, oh!  Truly this is a great marvel that my eyes
behold!  These are indeed the tracks of straight-horned oxen, but
they are turned backwards towards the flowery meadow.  But these
others are not the footprints of man or woman or grey wolves or
bears or lions, nor do I think they are the tracks of a rough-
maned Centaur -- whoever it be that with swift feet makes such
monstrous footprints; wonderful are the tracks on this side of
the way, but yet more wonderfully are those on that.'

(ll. 227-234) When he had so said, the lord Apollo, the Son of
Zeus hastened on and came to the forest-clad mountain of Cyllene
and the deep-shadowed cave in the rock where the divine nymph
brought forth the child of Zeus who is the son of Cronos.  A
sweet odour spread over the lovely hill, and many thin-shanked
sheep were grazing on the grass.  Then far-shooting Apollo
himself stepped down in haste over the stone threshold into the
dusky cave.

(ll. 235-253) Now when the Son of Zeus and Maia saw Apollo in a
rage about his cattle, he snuggled down in his fragrant
swaddling-clothes; and as wood-ash covers over the deep embers of
tree-stumps, so Hermes cuddled himself up when he saw the Far-
Shooter.  He squeezed head and hands and feet together in a small
space, like a new born child seeking sweet sleep, though in truth
he was wide awake, and he kept his lyre under his armpit.  But
the Son of Leto was aware and failed not to perceive the
beautiful mountain-nymph and her dear son, albeit a little child
and swathed so craftily.  He peered in ever corner of the great
dwelling and, taking a bright key, he opened three closets full
of nectar and lovely ambrosia.  And much gold and silver was
stored in them, and many garments of the nymph, some purple and
some silvery white, such as are kept in the sacred houses of the
blessed gods.  Then, after the Son of Leto had searched out the
recesses of the great house, he spake to glorious Hermes:

(ll. 254-259) 'Child, lying in the cradle, make haste and tell me
of my cattle, or we two will soon fall out angrily.  For I will
take and cast you into dusty Tartarus and awful hopeless
darkness, and neither your mother nor your father shall free you
or bring you up again to the light, but you will wander under the
earth and be the leader amongst little folk.' (21)

(ll. 260-277) Then Hermes answered him with crafty words: 'Son of
Leto, what harsh words are these you have spoken?  And is it
cattle of the field you are come here to seek?  I have not seen
them: I have not heard of them: no one has told me of them.  I
cannot give news of them, nor win the reward for news.  Am I like
a cattle-liter, a stalwart person?  This is no task for me:
rather I care for other things: I care for sleep, and milk of my
mother's breast, and wrappings round my shoulders, and warm
baths.  Let no one hear the cause of this dispute; for this would
be a great marvel indeed among the deathless gods, that a child
newly born should pass in through the forepart of the house with
cattle of the field: herein you speak extravagantly.  I was born
yesterday, and my feet are soft and the ground beneath is rough;
nevertheless, if you will have it so, I will swear a great oath
by my father's head and vow that neither am I guilty myself,
neither have I seen any other who stole your cows -- whatever
cows may be; for I

Admirable, Blissful, Bewildered, Curious, Capable, Compassionate, Determined, Daring, Delighted, Dazzling, Eagar, Edgy, Enlightening Enthusiastic, Elegant, Fabulous, Fantastic, Forgiving, Fictitious, Fancy, Feminist, Glamourous, Gorgeous, Glowing, Guarded, Greatful, Generous, Gloomy, Happy, Honest, Hopeful, Humourous, Humble, Humane, Heartiest, Heavenly, Imaginative, Interesting, Inspiring, Intellegent, Incredible, Impressive, Important, Indecisive, Invisible, Jinxed, Joyous, Judicious, Justified, Jobless, Jiggish, Jimp, Jittery, Jazzy, Jaunty, Kindhearted, Keen, Knowledgable, Kiddish, Knavish, Knockout, Kempt, Kween, Kin, Kittens, Kinder, Lazy, Luxurious, Lively, Loyal, Limit, Laminated, Lawless, Lightning, Lushious, Luminous, Lovesick, Logical, Modest, Marvelous, Motivated, Music, Momentous, Mindful, Magical, Memories, Merciful, Mellow, Mesmerizing, Malicious, Mannered, Noble, Nervous, Night, Naive, Noted, Natural, Nifty, Nurturing, Never-ending, Noteworthy, Neglected, Narnia, Native, Number 1, ***, Openhearted, O Canada, Obviously, Obidient, Obsessions, Open-minded, Oriented, O.K., Observing, OUT-OF-THIS-WORLD, Omnicient, Outshining, Obliged, Obsticles, Passionate, Personally, Poetry, Picture-Perfect, Positivity, Pulse, Painful, Physic, Power, Protagnist, People-Person, Pros, and Cons, Purity, Purpose, Pleasant, Pieces, Quiet, Quality, Quick, Quoted, Queen, Quirky, Quintessentially, Quest, Quick-Minded, Questionable, Quarter, Quiver, Quiddity, Quiescent, Qui vive, Quip, Quantity, Ravishing, Rapport, Reliving, Reassuring, Rebal, Rainbows, Reckless, Relaxing, Respect, Remedy, Regrets, Right, Relatable, Reliable, Rad, Ready, Responsible, Rainy days, Sagacious, Salutary, Sassy, Secure, Self-assured, Self-reliant, Self-confident, Self-disciplined, Selfless, Sensational, Sensitive, Stars, Shawn Mendes, Sénorita, Sentimental, Set, Serene, Seamless, Significant, Sightly, Trustworthy, Talented, Tender-hearted, Thriving, Thankful, Titanic, Touché, Touchy, Transparent, True, True-blue, Traveller, Transpicuous, Titillating, Timeless,Tidy, Teasing, Tender, Terrific, Thorough, Thrilling, Unarguable, Ultimate, Undefining, Under-the-weather, Unalloyed, Unassuming, Uncommon, Understandable, Undivided, Unique, Unlimited, Unstoppable, Uplifting, Upbeat, Uber, Unconvensional, Uhuh, Unbelieveable, Under control, Unquestionable, Utter amazment, Valiant, Valuable, Valid, Veridical, Valiant, Vibrant, Vigorous, Vigilant, Victorious, Visions, Vivid, Voluptuous, Vulnerary, Vulnerable, Venust, Veracious, Vestal, Violen, Vroom Vroom, Victory, Vows, Wake me up, Wise, Welsome, Well-behaved, Welcoming, Well-grounded, Woke, Whimsical, Whistler, Wholesome, Wired, Witty, Wondrous, Whilst, Winter, Wonderful, Wide-Awake, Walk it like I take it, ****-bang, Wishful, Wellness, Worth it, World-Class, Xo, Yolo, Zero

if words are food for the mind,
then here is a glimpse of mine
if words are drugs for the brain,
then here is why i'm so pained.

abandoned, abhorrent
abnormal, absent
abstract, abuse
addicted, anxious

betray, bitterly
blank, blasphemy
bloodless, breakdown
breathless, brutal

captive, casually
catastrophe, cautiously
change, cigarettes
crucial, clueless

damaged, dangerous
deadly, disastrous
disheartened, disconcerting
dramatic, dreading

eager, eccentric
ecstasy, eerie
effete, effortless
embittered, excess

faded, failure
faintly, fallacy
faltering, fatally
fearfully, finally

garbage, gawky
gibberish, gloomy
gone, goodbye
graphic, gratify

hallucinate, harshly
hazy, heartless
hectic, helpless
hesitant, hit-and-miss

idiotic, idly
ignorant, intimacy
illogical, imaginative
infatuated, intoxicated

jealousy, jittery
journey, journal
joylessly, judicial
junk, juvenile

keen, killing
knavish, knocking
knockout, knotty
knowingly, knowledge

laborious, lacking
lame, languishing
lifeless, literature
lovelorn, lugubrious

madness, maintenance
make-believe, malaise
mean, melancholic
mellow, melodramatic

naff, naivety
nameless, naturally
nauseous, nebulous
neglected, nervous

oasis, objectionable
obliged, obliterate
oblivion, obscurity
obsolete, one-and-only

pacifist, pained
pale, panicky
paradise, paralyze
passionately, passively

raging, ranting
rationalize, raving
realistic, reasonable
rebellious, reckless

saboteur, sadness
sake, sameness
sanity, satisfactory
scar, steady

taint, tangled
tasteless, tearful
telling, temperamental
terror, theoretical

unaffected, uncanny
uncommon, unconsciously
undesirable, uneasy
unfortunate, untidy

vaguely, vanish
vanity, vanquish
versatile, vicious
violence, voracious

waiting, waking
walkout, wanting
wasteful, weary
withering, wrecking

if words are food for the mind,
then you've seen a glimpse of mine
if words are drugs for the brain,
then no wonder i'm so pained.

*-djs

Old goatherds swear how all night long they hear
The warning whirr and burring of the bird
Who wakes with darkness and till dawn works hard
Vampiring dry of milk each great goat udder.
Moon full, moon dark, the chary dairy farmer
Dreams that his fattest cattle dwindle, fevered
By claw-cuts of the Goatsucker, alias Devil-bird,
Its eye, flashlit, a chip of ruby fire.

So fables say the Goatsucker moves, masked from men's sight
In an ebony air, on wings of witch cloth,
Well-named, ill-famed a knavish fly-by-night,
Yet it never milked any goat, nor dealt cow death
And shadows only--cave-mouth bristle beset--
Cockchafers and the wan, green luna moth.

Elvish is my name
The strain of an elf
Like an elvish mystic
A Tolkien fantasy
From the middle-earth
Lays the knavish
Of the dancing elves

A* is for *anything to end this suffering
B is for broken, breaking like my fragile state
C is for careful, cautious of these eggshells
D is for disaster, destruction of what we had
E is for empty, emotionless cries in the night
F is for false, fake like the lies we tell ourselves
G is for grief, grieving not over the dead but mistakes
H is for horrible, hatred the purest of black
I is for insanity, insomnia plaguing my sleep
J is for jaded, just lacking in many emotional departments
K is for knavish, kiddish behaviour I exemplify
L is for lost, losing faith, happiness and you
M is for mistakes, monster at heart and in action
N is for nonsensical, never-ending
O is for officious, obnoxious demeanour and persona
P is for pathetic, powerless to make the right moves
Q is for quitter, quick to leave and walk away
R is for resentment, relationships aren't for men like me
T is for turmoil, turbulence beneath the wings of trouble
U is for understatement, underestimating
V is for violent, vindictive almost as if by nature
W is for wishful, waiting for something new
X is for xenodochial, but never to those who matter most
Y is for youthful, yokelish and distasteful to be around
Z is for zany, pertaining to the cause of most problems

Catalyst, you are
  hovering,
  elegantly
  chasing the
  kryptonite of my being.

Cajoled helplessly into the sweet
  heaven of improbable impossibility.
Eager to break free from the
  canopy of a
  knavish reality.

Confused in a different kind of
  hue that traces the
  etymology of a word so foreign.
Chambered upon a citadel of a
  kingdom fortressed by shame.

Catalyst,
  have me back my sleep.
Echt pain, yet bliss.
Catalyst, your effect I will forever
  keep.

I have done it,
brought myself to pass over.
I bleed farewell to my lover,
she has hated seeing signs,
but best she begin benign
and untold untruth undone,
her life relieved and vows unsown,
I reset,

I have done it,
ended the line of my inherited sin,
the trials and trips my parents did begin,
the one and only son they did depend,
my blood spills forth funneled as the pen,
bad blood bleeds first from within,
not to forget.

I have done it,
grip on your world is fading,
I say farewell to my home to trappings
of this past and mortal beating,
I smile at my release of things,
of being unleashed from the peelings,
do not fret.

I have done it,
my fiendish brain is shot
on the blue starry wall and blots
on this read and written page,
let go of ego and thoughts
and again forever not
spin the vile traitorous plots,
nor burn fires of lecher’s knavish fraught,
no regrets.

I have done it,
new eyes cast over the old shell
rise from the ashes of a living hell,
blood dries whence did well,
winds scatter bones to sail,
I feel the light call my fast reveille,
my fire is set.

I have done it,
our world before me set right,
torch within me shines the light
new fire, new blood burns with might
of death’s refresh that hath smite
the depressed, and risen the phoenix bright,
  to reincarnate.

The golden rule never gives change.
And gamblers only drink champagne
Losers can’t afford it
Don’t play poker with medicine men
Doc Holliday's a sore loser
It goes with his obsession
He's a dentist by learning
A gambler by profession
An' a renaissance assassin
A Medici Faustian bargain
Playing the green baize table
Where ten’s the changing sign
The alchemist’s calling card
The card of transformation
A card of changing of beds
And a change of friends
They could even be enemies
Fortune changes for the worse
An’ losing is a winning gamble
When hands like feet change direction
Losing yourself is the smart play
Sooner’s so much better than later
In time the world loves a loser
But gamblers hate a debtor
I.O U’s don’t spell for less than A an’ E
They’re just vowels without provenance
Gambling cashes in on culture
Money is the 'lingua franca'
Of a very deadly silent economy
No really one talks about it
An’ you can’t keep your eyes off it
But sure as hell everyone
Listens to the silence
Ten’s the calling card of consequence
A very suitable number
In Fire Earth Air and Water
They can be quite soulfully pedestrian
You never know what’s in the elements
A good card to keep up your sleeve
But lose your shirt you lose everything
An’ it goes without saying a lot
Not a good card to be found naked with
Be careful with a nine in any colour
It’s the most deserving in the highest
Nines, sleeves and gambling
Are a triple tray of troubles
Heads have been known to be served
On a tray of trays
Nines can be very Trinitarian
And quite John the Baptist
A good card to lose in haste
But eternal if a friend,
There’s none better
Eights go on forever
The Via Dolorosa of numbers
They are a sacred journey
Only the compassionately beautiful
Gamble with an eight in their hands
Eight is a sacred mystery
In any suit it is never cut
And always woven
From a seamless gambled-for cloth
Eight never gambles in suits
Only in garments
Never gamble with an eight
Unless you’re gambling with redemption
Hand life and soul have been
Eternally lost or found on an eight
Truly a gamblers card
And sometimes a calling card
As every gambler knows
A card of consequence and karma
When it calls keep your eyes on the dealer
Sure as hell a deal's been done
An’ all the blue eyes are on you
Sevens like fives are a journey
Good cards for travellers
Wanderers and shape shifters
Seven seas and five continents
Suits those wandering souls among us
Two solitary prime numbers
Indivisible onto themselves
They can be quite pedestrian
Fives can be over confident over land
But they shouldn't try to be seven
Walking on water's a mistake
Unless you’re an avatar
Treading wine is better and safer
Fives and sevens are a journey
Good cards to keep in your shoes
Sixes are sixes by themselves
An’ they don’t go with sevens
They're the card of reflection
A scriptural card if ever there was one
A card dressed in a triple mirror
Vanity and vexation in the curves
A card to turn and turn
And turn your eyes again
The number of this card
Another Trinitarian consequence
Is reflected in the mirror
An image of ourselves
The card has an identity problem
Don’t knock it, you might need it
It’s your friend in need of friend
An’ with friends like that
It's just as well that any three
From any four sixes
Is the sign of a winning hand
In a loser’s smile
And the best part of a full house
A card of Jezebels, angels
And mirrors, on reflection
Don’t you just love sixes
Five is five and let’s not talk about it
It’s an assassin’s calling card
It goes with its own territory
A card that doesn’t take prisoners
Fours are strangers at the door
Every one with a Matthew birth mark
In the image of John
Like four seasons they arrive
Like pilgrims then are gone
To change themselves to be
The same again, another season
Another fall of leaving calls
A card for all weathers
And shelter in a storm
You are kind of pleased to see it
But you don’t know why
Also cards of mystery and obviousness
And only fools an’ fours
Can tell the difference
It’s the ‘maybe’ card
You never really know with fours
The proverbial knocking at your doors
But sure as hell
They’ll never ring a bell
A tidy card to send to acrobats
And other kinds of well-balanced people
That’s what fours are for
Commitments tailored to your needs
And the occasional highly wired friend
Don’t go out without them
You never know if you might need them
Threes are trinities and divinities
Fathers Sons an’ Holy Ghosts
And more usually the cause
Of a quick divorce
The world moves in threes
Sattwas Rajas and Tamas
The triune dance of the universe
Light, Action and Inertia
It even grows on trees
Every one’s a traveller
Some are even gypsies
A good card to keep in your shoes
They can be an invitation
Or a visitor from a distant place
They're the taxi cards of the pack
Call them when you wanna go
Somewhere, they'll arrive
They're the calling cards of falling friends
You'll never be lonely on journey
Of five and sevens with a three
They’re the crucifixion card
Unless it suits you otherwise
To be so amused
Deuces are twos, the mirror card
Duality’s their basic business
They really are a wolf card
Always travelling in packs
Not sufficient to be dangerous
An’ just enough to not be lonely
They really appreciate your company
It suits their reflective existence
To travel in togetherness
The faces are places searching for aces
Jacks in a pack never look back
If they can possibly look sideways
Concealing their knavish tendencies
They’re quite the well-tailored card
Fine raiment maketh a fool attractive
In very unfashionable circumstances
Treachery an’ deceit on each turning face
Sure as Clementine’s your long lost darling
An Ophelia never got her hand in time
A gambling Hamlet is a sight to see
Jealousy rage and a ferocious anger
Writ upon a countenance looking back
Beyond the cardboard eyes of the beholder
Dumb broads are never dumb
And seldom abroad
Sometimes they can be
A very home loving card
Two jokers live in every pack
One out front the other looks back
They’re the magpies in the deck
Less in sorrow than in joy
They cover every missing face
The hooded birds deserve their place
Their reputation precedes them
In black and white they are the night
In colours they’re magnificent sevens
And they’ve really got your number
In spades it suits their harlequin fashion
To be a veritable grave digging charmer
In jewels they ***** the precious deck
Two diamonds and they’re everybody’s
The vagrant royalty rules the roaming pack
Their world is another creature’s finery
Gamblers are such snazzy jazzy dressers
If you have to lose a shirt do it in style
Second hand clothes and second hand hands
Aren’t so much a misfortune more an affliction
Desperately seeking a lost occasion
Well-heeled fools engrave it on their heart
Better be dead in your gracious threads
Than kicking in rags of common comfort  
They’re the card that always looks back
The face in every hand smiling at you
Looking at them with cardboard eyes
Then there’s the precisely tailored box
The transient funeral parlour
In a good-looking box like that
You can die an’ dine anywhere
In reasonable style
If you’re tailed a toss head first
Into a losing situation
Cards never call they beckon
And if they speak it’s a good idea to listen.

no innocence pursues reward
and, once satisfied of esteem's pursuit,
it will certainly sacrifice
its inferior wisdom

nothing of pompous dignity becomes
great, no noble integrity, but it surely
brings knavish adoration which
changes its possessors much

rogues and virtue, since deceived,
fear all—unconcerned with pain themselves
never is happiness easily learned, nor
things of such a present wisdom

I sympathize for the helpless souls



Whom have blindly fallen victim



To the dreadful omen of



A conspicuous fraud



Now they will all collapse with him



Deep into the scorching bowels



Saturated by a ghastly vortex



Of perilous venom





Upon gracing paths with



This penurious menace



The foreheads of various homosapiens



Have been marked



With knavish symbols loyally



Representing bizarre characteristics







The velvety hearts of these



Once compassionate creatures



Have now faded from



Royal gold to jet black



For they are now possessed by



The insatiable hunger for power



And will stop at nothing



To achieve their rise



To prominence in that status







It doesn't help when we the people



Engrave our signatures



Confirming our choices to become swamped



With contributed praise



Congratulating us on our decision



To make erratic salvations



Discreetly cackling within



The safety blanket of shadows







Oblivious to the wicked and sinful agenda



That this scam artist is tricking you into initiating



A series of bone chilling snickers escape from



the pharynx of this insanely, catastrophic



Excuse for a man







Carefully he documents every syllable of your John Hancock



As he tears your life in two and blazes the remains



Condemning you to the atrocious avenues



Of Lucifer's schizophrenic asylum