I’m a chain male, forging links. A quicksilver smith, flowing and ebbing. My word is my bondage, though you’ll never tie me down. A dribbling riddler, the trade of all jacks. Black heart and red diamond; suite, booted and frequently flushed. Bone shackler, cagey jailer, dwarf star juggler, sinister and dextrous. Sleight of hand and slight of figure, I’ll run rings for red roses, ring the bells when you’re blue. Green irises are the windows I gaze through, paned daily by hydrargyric tears.
I stole this laughter from around my eyes and laid it on a page for you. Bathed crows’ feet in ink and let them walk over your body. Traced contours with a finger, mapping out your terrain. Kissed the purple stain where I pulled too tightly, the figures of eight where metal skated over skin. I described you in arcs, connected in circles. I ran like a river and never looked back… banking on precious metals, trading in goods and bads, monks and beasts, flippantly coined phrases.