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The Casino, The Croupier & The Crawler


I turned my cards over
Facedown
Reverting to a stage of infancy
Where I was neither a Diamond or
A Queen
Naked in my tears, holding
Nothing
Wearing a suit of Hearts
Until fitted for a Crown
Befitting a clown, a
Joker

I am no more than a fleeting composer
A face fleshed in judgment
An executioner of non-expression
Ten years of clovers prayed beneath
Rose-scented tables of mystery
A ten-spot, a decade of hiding
A spaded bombardier
Unimagined in my piety
A simple abstaining

Dried in the receptive roles
Portrayed in Aladdin’s mortality
At rest in deuce-like slumber
Flushed in my Dreams
Face up
Dwindling in philosophical
Wonder
My only composition

The strongest love is the love that can demonstrate its fragility.” 
― Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes ―