Kate Camp
Gambling lambs
Gambling lambs
I hardly know what to say to you
that I remained in clockless darkness
while outside you repeated yourself in broadcast loops
your sunlight falling on the overweight masses
with a democratic evenness that sucked the perspective.
That when I sought you in Paris, in Venice, downtown
you were not only absent but had erased yourself
leaving smudges on the faux marble columns
as if this world were your mere skirting board
your bumper car arena to be heedlessly marked.
I sought you in the desert, where water jetted high into the air.
I sought you in the desert, where monuments collapsed
beds and minute cum traces, sticky traces of liquor
reduced to constituent molecules.
God I felt lonely when I realised you were everywhere.
Pascal invented roulette to aid his research
how maddeningly joyless your knowing has made you
I would rather kill myself than hear another of your tricks
is this your card is this your card is this your card
as you split the thighs of the deck.
