Paupers in the blood purse of the heart Lay their elaborate Shillings on the table; cardsharks pitched In the night-dealt tavern 5 Spade their aces on the circus-lit flat. Time has sold my windy winnings to a torch And I listen as I burn; Desperation's lip mimes dumb prayers to the hands; Tucked and crossed 10 Against age's gale I kneel in the fiery kirk. Oh I'd lay any dollar in this sailor's booth To get back half my wage (Pained from all the paying days of my death that toss Annihilation's light), 15 Or one heavenhued hour of my Gamorraed youth. Now gambled out to the last most Moan of my soul And stretched to my shroud on the checkered cloth, I fury my winnings 20 To the Bermuda wind, and all my cruel wishes scatter. Daybreak's word clatters drainward with my bloods Down to cluttered noon; And there my heart's argosy, almost golden in the hand- Hold of my ribs 25 Repeats and repeats and the seas rise and break.
From the collection "Divine Revolt"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.