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Gamble (A Poem for the High Hand Poet)
Seventy dollars,
chips stacked,
and I’m still at the table
drinking beer
and blowing smoke
in their faces
underneath the lights.
But the cards are out now
and the bets around are in,
and my hand
is not a hand at all
except for a few fingers
here and there
that point to the door
as if they know
there is no going all in
without losing everything first.
As All of Your Boats Float Across the Water
I’ve cried wolf too many times before
to know that no one ever saves the ones they can,
and so I feel it would only be pointless now
for me to shoot flares from an island
that all along you’ve been circling this whole time.
Because it’s not that I’m lost
and don’t want to be found,
it’s that I’m lost and would much rather
search for myself than rescue myself.
Steve DeMoss is twenty-one years old and resides in
Walla Walla, WA. He has been writing poetry for the past five years
and has been publishing for the past three. A few of his publications
include the January 2007 issue of Poesia, volume number 18 of Idiom
23, and the Autumn 2007 issue of Writer’s Bloc. His work can also be
found numerously in other small online journals.
Currently he is writing a book entitled, Menlo Park: The
Contemplations and Musings of a Constructive Demolitionist. When he is
not busy writing hr engages himself within other mediums of art, such as
film, music, and drawing.
Email: Steve DeMoss
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