The Queen’s Gambit (NaPoWriMo Day 20 – Games)



“she’s like a swallow, possessed
of her own barbaric song, strange, dark.”

You come to me
Man of  shadowy guises
Every midnight
The clock strikes

Filling this receptacle
That poses as my mind

Your sculptures of fire
a mystical display
Nature transforms to theatre stage

We’re partners in Dadaism
And the games never end…

The board we play is chequered
The Past casts its grey pall
But the grid is well-scored

It’s never obvious to you that I
Play the challenge because I’m bored
Somehow the next move is always yours:

Black Knight takes White Queen

(I politely stifle my yawn)

Time stretches its elastic band
And we span distances,
counting moments only
by the gasps of your breath
as I stick my hand down your pants
and my head up your ass

We fight from the trenches
Our Cabaret Voltaire wired to trip
We explode fluorescent blue
In Dolby Surround Sound
Panoramic Technicolor voodoo
Donning our dreamcoats
Playing our Three Penny Opera

I baptize your cock at
The Mount of the Holy Urinal
Building monuments to your ego
Pigheads hang from coffered ceilings
Walls plodded and padded
Donkeytails pinned, Piñatas batted
Forked tongues prong smirking cheeks
But your deception tastes so sweet


Now it’s time for charades
A zombie-eyed Fred Astaire cuts a rug
Under Rita Hayworth’s glass Gilda slippers
She winks a toilet lid eye, her smile
is the flex of your biceps
Her gown the trace of your linea alba
Glint-ledged, thistledown-strung
Snapthirsted and drillflushed
I plan our burial, our headstones
stenciled in Architype Albers:

“D’ailleurs, c’est toujours les autres qui meurent”

But the joke gets even better
Because our bodies will never be found
We chow down on each other
Like starved wolfhounds

We slide down the escape hatch
Dutifully disarmed and damned
Long before our event’s horizon

We note the yellow light
Flashing caution:
It’s the only color
a blindman can see

But the Titanic must crash

We tumble down
Alice’s rabbit-hole
Back to back
Face over face
End over end
To a violin case

The strings bravely sing
“Nearer My God To Thee”

Our double-sided coin
Flipping at Fate’s whim
We land headfirst
In Waterloo’s
Poppy-strewn forest
Coming to rest
On the edge
Of our coin’s rim
Just shy of resolution

Yet another bit
Of Inevitability’s wreckage

And so we begin
(happily, according to that Frenchman)
Rolling absurdity
Straight back uphill again…








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