My eyes have slowly opened
through the dealing of cards,
the mixture of chips
stacked and piled,
never in the lead,
closing in on the trail,
shuffle my existence
and deal it out in spread,
paired in pocket,
my pockets are full,
can I cut out of the hand
and pattern my jeans,
stitch them with mercy,
for I’ve folded
far to many hands
in my lifetime.
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