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Rouging These Aces

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September 28, 2014 by Rivky

Rouging These Aces

Who are these visitors

That choose to call my name?

I am again uncertain

Brooding in bed,

Wearily wide-eyed.

I am sharply awake

From when twilight first faded,

Unrested.

Those thoughts, illuminated

Those words aching.

Definitively, cut off.

My purple sevens,

Fragment heavens

Of color in greens and nines

Of latent blues and silver two

Written inside this gold, mine.

Fractioned one,

Falling, tipping the edge,

Unresolved.

Hued, shaping, slightly

Mooded.

Indeed, draped, muffled, sorted,

Muted.

Painfully firing across

Cliffs and valleys with such

Astonishing speed.

Like those shimmering

Bright stars that see.

Me.

What is it like, observing

The violent chaos?

Taking note.

Clearly, through

My little, opened window.

Fully moonlit, all aglow

Starkly naked, shivering.

Distant, alone.

Millions of tiny specks

Pearly flecks spiralling,

Clustered.

Silent.

Quiet from right here.

I understand them though,

To be not.

And they are, now.

Moving about,

Like these frenzied,

Flying bumblebees.

Clumsily appearing all

–Graceless.

Intermittently shooting, hurling

Bits, Shards,

From their Solarisphere.

Preparing for, perhaps a battle

Waiting to shield and

Safeguard their powerful,

Gushing light.

To deceptively hide from September’s

Blue dawn which will

Brazenly veil their

Silvery points.

A tinted, sheer orange, a shy violet cloud,

And an angry streak of

Radiant yellow, zooming

The ephemeral highway of sky.

But, quite disenchanted…

There was nothing. Significant.

Nothing even remarkable,

in their customary exchange.

Nothing –noteworthy.

In their final epistle.

Come what may, then.

Juniper letters, five blue petals

Your binary stem

Spinely, prickle nettles,

Doubled now, decaying in ten.

Broadly, you prattle in your

Symbols and signs.

Perilously, stacking up

This house of cards that mime – Le contraire de solitaire.

Delicately magnificent, deceptive

Foundation,

On a Bluff.

Trampled down on

The suit, dressed in nines,

In which you were,

Dashingly decked out, blushing

Rouging these Aces.

Three of a kind,

Blackened, these spades, eleven

Dead blind.

But what caught my eye, this time around

Was that the King just now was orange and trumped.

Resigned.

And the Queen, bedazzled in her

Paragon of diamonds, was

soon stabbed

–Sadly, spaded.

By Jack, Be Nimble

  -Without a bloody heart.

So, as it did happen

Dawn broke even

And the noontide meridian,

Crowned.

Be Still.

My purple sevens,

Fragment heavens

Of color in greens and nines

Of latent blues and silver two

Written inside this gold of mind.

Once again dancing in their finery

Prancing in their giddy fashion.

Seductively jestering the joker boy

With a peevish grin, a swift blow,

And her poker-faced bow.

I have, for the time being, tranquilized my tempest.

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