Rouging These Aces

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September 28, 2014 by Rivky Gee

Rouging These Aces

Who are these visitors

That choose to call my name?

Blank symbols on a game that trouble

This maddening heart.

I am again uncertain

Brooding in bed,

Wearily wide-eyed.

I am sharply awake

From when twilight first faded,


Those thoughts, illuminated

Those words aching.

Definitively, cut off.

Fragmentary phrased

Numerically fractioned,


Uncomfortably textured

Hued, shaped, slightly


Indeed, draped, muffled, sorted,


Painfully firing across

Cliffs and valleys with such

Astonishing speed.

Like those shimmering

Bright stars that see.


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,



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


Intermittently shooting, hurling

Bits, Shards,

From their Solarisphere.

Prepared 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,

An angry streak of

Radiant yellow.

Zooming the turbulent highway

Of the ephemeral sky.

But, quite enchanted as I was,

there was nothing significant.

Nothing even remarkable,

in their customary exchange.

Nothing –noteworthy.

In their final epistle.

Come what may,

Juniper letters on a stem

of prickle and spine.

Broadly, you prattle in this

Vertabraeic vernacular.

Perilously, stacking up

Like a house of cards,

Le contraire de solitaire.

Building up this magnificent foundation,

On a Bluff.

Only to, nervously, trample down on the suit

Dressed in nines,

Shuffling lines, in which you were

Dashingly decked out in.

I don’t know precisely

Whether to appreciate

These spongy, rigid,

Delphian curiosities.

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 trumped,

Seemed to have done a number on him, leaving him


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 sun, pokered through.

And the mid-day meridian, was later

Crowned noon.

Be Still.

My fragmentary phrases have left their


Strung, in some way,

Definitively defeated.

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 the tempest.


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