In
writing on 01.26.10 at 09:59:22 PM
rising away from a place
where leaves stand still
like singing without words
and humming with a tune
of the space turning
out over the in of the
leg tossing the wayward
thought about sin
while our eyes look
at a picture of your eyes
and you are neither happy
nor sad nor content
nor unfulfilled
nor satisfied nor
complacent nor
apathetic nor
lost nor unhappy
but you are breathing
whilst mixed up in a net of
beats and hymns
and plans drawn slyly
in the sand of conjecture
and wishing the wish
to be a reality
but knowing that in a
sea of time and history
and gifts made for a
future that is a present
in the middle, or is it
the end, or perhaps the middle of the
beginning that steals
us away across that night where
the salt freezes to pavement
and we think of spring while
laying our hair against hair
against skin against the irises
that know there is a fleck of
truth in beauty and simplicity
has a place in as many worlds
that easily exist from here.
In
writing on 10.08.09 at 11:05:30 PM
It was a quarter to nine on a Thursday night. Thursday’s had been slow lately. When I first started Thursday’s had been busier than Friday’s. I had my theory as to why. I always have my theories as to why. This theory was no different, not any better. Just pattern recognition of the foggy crowd that showed up on Thursday nights and not on Friday nights. However, as I said, Thursday’s had been slow lately. I had just been placed onto the table from my break. We were down a dealer, so I knew that I would be on this table for at least an hour. There is nothing worse than a dead hour on a Blackjack table. Perhaps it is the green felt, or the smoke-eater air that stops time. Whatever it is, an hour on a dead Blackjack table is worse than any torture devised by man. You could say I am being hyperbolic, but then again, you haven’t been on a dead Blackjack table, cards spread in an arch, in a overgrown tent. The sweat stains from the hands of the last dealer who had a medical condition that none of us could pronounce nor really wanted to know the details of left in the only comfortable spot to use as a prop while on the table. Continue down this rabbit hole »