oh tender Dice Game—by
the flame of essence, by the dream of the wiggling hyena; the alpha is
closer, the omega is further, most will sleep to deaths; so ignored,
like I breed animosity, like a fueled hostility—in for out, out for in, needing
a tank of skies, a patch of helium, a cup of oxygen … so much a woman, sold to
winning, it gets so lonely, so captured, spinning on diamonds—the film inside,
the mind recorder, the many ghosts—at slumber, at microphones, when I looked, I
saw it clearly. most dangerous contacts, a soul could lose big, if daring to
play by slimy rules; much a dictum, much odiferous passengers, like many
endorsing sewers. the claim is critical, she speaks to hitting, so silent,
tacit admission, unkosher meats; to die a smidgen, to have moved further, asking
for Megan Thee Stallion … too much, too major, uncut, laced, well unbehaved—the
man in the mirror, a phantom in disguise, come back too often to quite un-touch
deaths. I pick up doodads, fidgets, like moving closer is a riddle—giving all,
in all, like losing is general. fuddled over joys, addled over interests,
debased over love.
