The Ardentry of the Acolyte
It’s only the start.
Always something’s just begun.
Don’t play all your cards at once!
That’s not how a game is won.
A hand revealed is a hand undone.
I answer sharply, with the spice of ego’s
subtle splicing of the psyche—
“the sick surprise is, I’m not.”
Liken me to a jack-in-the-box.
The box is Pandora’s.
my resonance, the Renaissance.
—slithering in stronger,
my pack padded with jokers,
reverses, and skips.
Plenty there,
a vibrant mix.
Well-shuffled.
All in.
To which you say,
What game is this?
Wild cards : wild risk.
Take heed! Wisdom is sublime.
Seven never Eight Nine.
They’re still in Ten’s cave,
slaving away, calling it a diamond mine.
Blackjack is a game of twenty-one.
Here you have your forty-two,
face up, and say you’ve won?
Young jack-ess
thinks she’s aced it
with innovation.
Attendance grants no crown.
Showing up doesn’t mean you’ve made it!
My face? Smug.
The royals? Flushed.
How quickly
curtains
drawn,
fall.
Whining’s pitch sours the tone of your cry.
Constant pining denies you your whys.
And once again,
I cannot say.
We disregard whys
when the topic is what is.
…which just is, by the way.
So, hold your deck closely.
Hide your hand.
People are nosey.
—Spade’s a spade.
I’ll be the first to say it.—
Fifty-Two-Card—Hide-and-Seek
was never a game worth playing.
Just some nonsense-Poker,
heavy-on-the-Twister
disgrace … played
from frantic hands and knees.
“retrieve! retrieve!”
steaming, still stinging,
reeling from another righteous reaming.
I rise to where my seething eyes meet yours.
They are gleaming.
Well then.
Deck’s been found.
Next round
starts now.
I smile on the low point of my nod
where you can’t see me beaming.
I’ve never had a poker face.
My gluttony is dreaming.
Prostrate and present.
I can do anything.
Δηλία 09.21.2025
written on a train. my thirty second birthday.
Edits completed 10.03.2025
Æura Æra 