Mar 07, 2010 06:35
the shoes made of sheepskin
and the overcrowded boom
the ever-unreasoned running
and the leaving of the room
the night misremembered
with its effervescent heads
the tools used for tweaking
and the double-barrel beds
the muscle-shirted clubkid
with hopscotch in his glass
the putting-on a pokerface
to make a sloven pass
the shortlist for the trophy
and the breaking of the ball
the dried-blood under fingers
and the tacky eastern drawl
the stream of all things curlicued
with endings and beginnings
no one cares how you play the game
but everyone knows who’s winning