05-03-2012, 09:11 PM
On the Black rev0.0000000001
Blasted fortunes flung to perish, static cracks the skies
where Suns and sons quick wagers strike;
gauntleted by whirling wheels, un-slapped cheeks thanks billy and indie
so red, through spoke-blurred numbers;
Black comes the passion of wild excess.
Turn again, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Lofted by a streak called luck and dashed a million times
Like sailors berthed in china town, stuffed by need
To burn the bridge; no returns means no return.
Call it whilst the risk is high, call win loud and whisper loss,
Black feeds the passion of wild excess.
Turn again, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Crushed companions waft in silk, their perfume in the smoke;
Loved up by Cuban dollared dudes, Havanna, that can’t be her name, thanks indie
slides slippery and oozing need; some call it want, some call it greed.
With gloss-red claws on green worn beige, she helps him count and smiles.
How black the passion of wild excess…
Turn again, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Unfettered by the baying block, the jury to his trial,
Havannah slips into his space, alive with moments dripped in sweat;
cool trepidation, strange they met, not speaking yet so close,
so soon; a spin between two sheets, and a proposition made.
So black the passion of wild excess….
Turn again, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Fortune smiles and leaves the room, no one sees her go.
The wheel, disturbed by butterfly's wings, randomly proceeds. Thanks phil,I think. Chaos theory
The system lurches back and forth in evens, odds and highs.
Gauntlets gone, the suns will set; the wagers, whisky drowned.
Black turns the passion of wild excess.
Please turn once more, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Havannah rises, walks away, back into smoking night.
She turns again, the wheel is still, her lingered lust declines.
He looks her way; she stops, but sees the empty beggar’s hands
Her smile has changed to match the loss, to crush him into dust
Black is the passion of wild excess.
Tectak
2012
Blasted fortunes flung to perish, static cracks the skies
where Suns and sons quick wagers strike;
gauntleted by whirling wheels, un-slapped cheeks thanks billy and indie
so red, through spoke-blurred numbers;
Black comes the passion of wild excess.
Turn again, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Lofted by a streak called luck and dashed a million times
Like sailors berthed in china town, stuffed by need
To burn the bridge; no returns means no return.
Call it whilst the risk is high, call win loud and whisper loss,
Black feeds the passion of wild excess.
Turn again, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Crushed companions waft in silk, their perfume in the smoke;
Loved up by Cuban dollared dudes, Havanna, that can’t be her name, thanks indie
slides slippery and oozing need; some call it want, some call it greed.
With gloss-red claws on green worn beige, she helps him count and smiles.
How black the passion of wild excess…
Turn again, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Unfettered by the baying block, the jury to his trial,
Havannah slips into his space, alive with moments dripped in sweat;
cool trepidation, strange they met, not speaking yet so close,
so soon; a spin between two sheets, and a proposition made.
So black the passion of wild excess….
Turn again, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Fortune smiles and leaves the room, no one sees her go.
The wheel, disturbed by butterfly's wings, randomly proceeds. Thanks phil,I think. Chaos theory
The system lurches back and forth in evens, odds and highs.
Gauntlets gone, the suns will set; the wagers, whisky drowned.
Black turns the passion of wild excess.
Please turn once more, the wheel, the cheek;
Turn again.
Havannah rises, walks away, back into smoking night.
She turns again, the wheel is still, her lingered lust declines.
He looks her way; she stops, but sees the empty beggar’s hands
Her smile has changed to match the loss, to crush him into dust
Black is the passion of wild excess.
Tectak
2012