If a twopenny game is truly what it is, why do we cling to life so tightly,
and what compels us to bring yet more players? Could it be nature’s fault
for imprinting in us this insatiable thirst? Even so, greed is our own breed,
nurtured over millennia among the volumes of sonnets that fill the shelves
of the slaughterhouse.
If I were to play a word association game,
the first thing that comes to mind
when love is mentioned would be films.
I don’t know how well it describes love,
but it certainly says quite a bit about me,
especially since I’m writing this at 1 a.m.,
after a day spent in my pyjamas
watching ‘Une nouvelle amie’ and ‘A Single Man’
on loop.
What are the odds of getting one double-yolk egg,
let alone a whole box? One in a thousand, I read,
and yet the latter happened to me just the other day.
You have to admit, I must be one lucky bastard
or an unlucky one, depending on the superstitions
we follow. Speaking of which, I have always wondered
why blue is considered better than red and white imposes
its supposed supremacy over black, brown, and yellow.
After all, in the game of colours, nothing lasts but the dire
shades of pale.
hidden pilcrow 