Game of the Gambler
The hotel has infinite rooms,
each one is haunted.
A generation caught
in between old mythologies and
new ones - an eternal loss repeating
each time we are born back into Time.
Bound between realities, the ones
I have felt and the ones that have happened -
that little crack in them that sometimes opens too quickly:
How do you fight something that is who you are,
a demented map in the shape of you?
I feel like an egg that won’t crack.
one that has cracked into
so many pieces that there
is no possibility of fusion, no hope
that is too worthy of a path for me.
I lack the energy
to excite a crack like that.
the starting line,
wide open to curses. I forgot a long
time ago how to light it.
After enough confrontations,
there is a welcome descent in walking down stairs.
I remember a dream telling him to do the back float.
Certain explosions go off in one reality and I know I am there,
and if you can’t shake off the lead coat
you must accept the picture as it stands.
Pray that the fog is a signal.
Every element must suffer itself
if it is ever to experience form.
I keep meeting me
a thousand steps back:
something about the aorta
the way it expands and contracts,
that is how the energy moves, I am certain.