The Silver Casino

So cautious is that soul – it’s been going through the same substance every dawn

There is no ultimatum.

So, uh, that soul pretends to fit in the target’s aim…

But this body, left in the coldest banks, only travels astray.

 

Through passed nickels and hay –

Fore, day after marked day, that flesh climbs a calendar’s wretched wall.

His wall.

Of paint – even of pain.

 

And through the disdain, a new picture within the frame.