Bitch of Spades

Why Labor under the table, instead,/claim this queen for your own. Out of sight, out of mind,/ days drifting past/with this card of sacrifice./ Shattered crystal, glass in the mind’s eye/in the moment/discovers  when unmasked./A long time on the road tonight/propelled by a thirst for distance/Words for cities have origin in the throat. They cast scenes of spies; assassins, who forever played that card. What they meant, out of breath and breeding//the bells in the corridor sound out /near statues of past masters

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