The Paper Rules
   

Some men bet their money.  Pain stakes in the meager soup of living.
Spinning wheel, revolve with liberty to the closed doors of the New Jersey
turnpike.  I feel my paper bag lunch on the ground.  The one I had forged to
eat as a child.  And since I have regressed these contradictions.  Though
through all of my childhood games, I have not learned the meaning of the blue
dice. So now, I carry on, betting the very circus prizes I won with my
high-school sweetheart.  Fortunate for me that I lose without dignity.
Gambling all I have to forsake.
   I have lost the paper rules, and I now gamble with my heart.


by jy