3 card migraine

buried beneath
an avalanche
of ocular obsolescence
he didn’t know when
it first became
an apparent abhorrence
but every deck of cards
he ever bought
came with fifty one
yet never a solitary
queen of hearts
ill suited to gambling
as a negative balance
prevents the hope of
fiscal dexterity
just tired
of paper cuts
and accidental

a piece of litter
in a field of fragrant
flowers blossoming
beneath the radioactive
waves of simmering sun
destined to tangle
among the leaves
never to taste
the sweet nectar
teasing his every sense
which has no place
in a fool’s world
of half dreamt hopes
unspoken declarations
lost in the everblowing
gales of disinterest
degrading slowly while
living half a life.


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