This exchange of closed-lipped
Blinks has come full ‘round.
My sleeve-aces are spent. The chips
Are stacked heavy against your quips,
Your listlessness sold by the pound,
The pleasantries we should have skipped.

“Well?” I say. You are unfazed.
As though you could refuse
An invitation to your one-man show,
Your monologue that tastes like crow.
You heap conscience upon your Atlas-muse,
This spare-child here, which you have raised
To the ground.

I am still humbled by your height,
And so, am eager to get you
On your way, that I may know big thoughts again.
Your health still hobbles by a cane
And pity surmounts all truth
As I flounder against the current of your plight.

My house of cards all torn to pieces,
I choose to take this sad enabling affair
Over a homeless dignity.
Around us swim the dusts of old humanities,
Billowing up with each gust of hot air,
And settling in your murky creases.