On the Black

[billy]

On the Black

Blasted fortunes flung to perish, static cracks the skies love the esses in this line, flung feels out of place on a roulette table, would placed be more appropriate?
where suns and sons quick wagers struck; should it be suns, and son's
gauntled by whirling wheels, un-slapped cheeks is gauntled a new word? i like it
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 stuffed by need feel forced
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; (double spacing)
Loved up by Cuban dollared dudes, Havanna, (that can’t be her name) the statement in parenths would read better on it's own line though it feels unnecessary,
Slides slippery and oozing need; some call it want, some call it greed.
With gloss red claws on 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 butterflies wings, randomly proceeds.
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

i like the sing song quality of it and the content. lady luck can be a bitch at times. there are a few grammar problems that wouldn't take much to sort out. the repetition of gauntlet and sun does work that well for me.
i like havanna and how you made her the personification of luck.
the two refrains work well though i think
black, the passion of wild excess flows better.
the cuban touch worked well. they epitimise wealthy and gamblers. i thought (that can't be her name) too cheesy

what i do enjoy about your poetry is the way a lot of it carries a certain melody.

this is no exception.

thanks for the read.