the cards flicker

in your hand

like wing beats

of a small bird

in a cloudless land

 

the afternoon

is a full body

kiss

a spiritual

brazilian

 

passing traffic

sounds like paper

being torn

at high altitude

then you deal

 

see the stars

and the sun

with the photoshopped

NASA images

behind them

 

and the queen

and the king

and the jack

jacking off

behind them

 

always

a double

entendre

a duet

for dead men

 

now opera

I was tempted

to say…

never mind

the rest of the

 

cards

are falling like flies

while I

leave

in the silence

poem studio