Thursday, February 18, 2010

Poem: Warehouse of Defeat

by Alex Gallo-Brown

The casino was dead air today.
No breath, a warehouse of defeat.
I admit, I joined
them in their weakness. 
I think I needed to feel less whole.
Or it might have been
about dispersing myself
through those slender circles.
In any case, I played, was fruitfully scattered.
When as I was leaving, the security guard smiled
at me, her face tender yet distraught.
I wondered whose face that was.
Were all of us so transparent in our vacancy?
Outside I gulped air, a kind of reverse weeping.
There were casinos for miles and miles.

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