The Fever Relief

In Poetry on April 22, 2012 at 12:16 pm

The chips go in and out
On the tidal pulls
Of a cocaine moon
With a cracked rotation
Timed to the erraticism
Of the fevered pulse
In the jittering
Hands holding
A pair of worn cards.

The high tide pulls hard
And all the chips go in
On a whim
More than a read,
On an impulse
More than a calculation,
On the gut need
To churn that empty
Thrill of having pushed
In more than the pocket
Has to give, into the deeper
Hole of reckoning with sharks sharp
On dividends against unbroken fingers.

And the race plays out in a sweat ecstasy
Of reveal, a sickening strip-tease enticing
Heart murmurs to splat their arrythmias
On the tabletop when the turn rivers
Rotten and the exposition shows
The opposition pulling the pile
In their direction with a smile
And a quip about luck.

Luck…. died on the site of consummating
The marriage, a widower with the paperwork
But no sex no on top culmination conquering
At pinnacle the excitation the burning -flat.
The fever dies in lows so low that alcohol can’t
Dream such a mellowing snap from the cocaine
Shakes of a gambler on a run. Blue deflation.

But, secretly,
The sprawl
Of that down
Is the hit
That the run
Always chased.


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