You think you've fashioned a life
Out of the chaos of hope—
Taken enough to make amends
For the shortcomings that keep you up,
Long into another neon night.
It's all nothing but a crapshoot,
Even though you toss the dice
Against the curb of desire,
Watching each cube tumble and spin,
Knowing you have as much chance to win
As the whore with twelve locks on her door.

What were the odds that you would go straight,
When you followed the dangerous road
Down to dead man's curve,
And then back again,
Sometimes, twice in the same light.
Why didn't you suspect the moon
Had a knife in her fat purse,
And she wasn't afraid to use it
Before her tired hand fell asleep.
Better to be alert and ready,
Than unsteady on your feet.

The next time you take a trip,
Be sure to unpack your lies,
So you won't feel far from home.
Dress appropriately for inclement weather
And never remove the hat on your head.
Employ a different name,
Just to disguise appearances,
And reverse the normal smile
You reserve to meet the public.
But privately speaking, of course,
You're still afraid to face the dark.

Volume 1, Issue 2, 2007