Monday, May 31, 2010

quilt

It’s the hope
That makes me

Put on a blindfold,
spin three times,
and trust that the darts
hit the bull's eye.

They have landed now,
(but only for now),
And now I've
wriggled them out,

a little pang each by each,
every pluck
merciless, fair, clean like bleach.

It’s the hope
That makes me

lay out more and more
red and blue chips on the table.
And this time I will win it all

The cards have been dealt now
(and already I’ve taken a vow)
the jacks won’t do me any good
I shout and I know and I say out loud

It’s the hope,
the hope of something so great I know not just how—-
It’s the hope.

It’s a rush.
It’s a monster.
It’s an out.

(It rears its head and I
beckon to its call
before the roar
's vibrations hit the air.
Its breath landed--just now--
in my ear.)

It's the game. It's in your head. It's the pre-original sin
It's my drug and it's his power and it's their win.
--It’s the goddamn hope.

I know that now.

**

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