Too Open

Too Open

Tumbling lies
Rumbling to die
Serving humble pie

Intense derision
Increments of wisdom
Spin and bent, lent in
Developments and visions
Spent in every decision
Of this mental magician’s
Tormented missions

Torrid scribblings
Morbid whittling
Scores of nightmares
And lore riddled in
I adore to be right there
At core it’s the only zone
I’m prone to be fitting in.

My throne, to scorn and poke,
Whether sore and wrath-influenced
Or baiting for laughs and bewitching
Born broke
More clever poor than affluent
And waiting daft for enrichment!

So I never get sore over how the other
Have-mores are living
Never pore over “What Could Have Beens”
I’m more set to shoulder “Must be good if we win”

So the only trick of me
Is how to untrick victory
A picked lock
Dropped in six spots
No longer fits ANY lot!

Unwind a game?
Fun times for my brain
But um, what kind of gain?

At core I keep this
No more secrets
The lore peeps such a wish

When I flay
Clenched cards close to play
Tense but unafraid
Handling my Way
Scrambling disarray
Like Gambit’s 5 card fillet

Re-angled hence I stay
Entangled, hypnotic
Still ambling, but still on topic
Zen-blessed pen-disress extended jests weapon set to spray
Against the deepest reaches
Of the NSA!

At the core of their deepest
Furnace
Burning earnest
Is to peep quick
Keep slick
In your sleep more to keep tips
No more secrets