Drawing Dead

i smoked a strong joint and decided that i'd never read a poem about poker, so i set out to create one, hoping my buzz would inspire me. i know this is weird for this site. hi sanji. bird.



DRAWING DEAD.....


I could almost see your face, staring back at me,
in the reflection of his shades, as if he could
hide his trepidation, or block my stares,
beaming through his soul
like the heroic rays,
of the Rising Sun

I saw a bead of sweat begin to form,
even so slowly,
a tiny puddle in a pore, he must take me for
a fool
I zoomed in
and it looked like a swimming pool, sitting perfectly
still
in a tropical place,
waiting to race down his face and erase his
crumbling facade of
robotic indifference


I could tell he wanted to
wipe it away, before it began its revealing descent,
but didn’t want to move, for fear he’d send those
overwhelming
Waves of weakness
Crashing towards me, and I’d be off and running
Like a horse at Preakness,
Reaching for chips, like I’d just overheard
His big
Fat
secret

I swore I could see your face, in the black of his shades,
And I remembered when you told me, to stay away
From this sort of place
the kind that's open all night
and sleeps all day
the kind the cops like to raid
The kind that can drain your wallet
as fast as
The blood from your face,
when you push him all in
and the sweat crashes down
but suddenly your staring
at a different face
the odds
the thoughts
the equations, swirl around your head
then comes
the sense of remorse,
then comes
the regret
then comes the anger
then comes
the dread
then comes the cold, lonely walk home
cuz all along
you were
drawing dead.

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