Retrospective in Nothing

Royal straight down south with four of a kind

Day drops into an afternoon and the neck snaps into gear with a ride down south on two over the hour. Flash rain welcomes the midsection and the highway is ever so lonely on the stretches between points of road kill on the bitumen. Such is roadside life and there are plenty of flowers to find when looking closely.

Treasure island is this secret abode, away from prying eyes and well away from prying fingers. Slouch begins from the boxers on the knees, walking around with the freedom of knowing a casual setting is all that it really takes. Distractions are never ending, with the back of the mind always looking for a connection back into the heart, yet cut off from all signs of communication.

Tournament of the stars begins in a sidling moment with the shuffling after the sugar rash crash makes a thick inch of icing. Magnificent in its rock chiseling attitude, grotesque in the same fashion.

Cards fall and the chips roll between the ranks. Players throw down and eye each other off. Rinse, repeat and watch the walls close in as the pressure non-existent fades into the background.

One falls. Then another. And another. Till there is only but three of the eight left to hold their own. And then, well, then things turn into the interesting divide down the split between aces and high cards over the others. One rack against two and it's their determination which holds a strong ground over the ebbing.

One more falls and the spectacle of such a slowing of momentum crashes hard for those standing by. Only care in the world is finding the knees warm enough to bend and ankles to shift across the edges of the water. Third in the eight and it's a score to climb back from on the next year. A veritable year for the rings and commitment made binding and legal.

Two sands back on the highway with the rain flashing a brilliance of timing to cut into the journey home.

And so the chips fall where they may, watching on with a stunning brilliance of failure but without a hint of regret. Only the craving for the one and only now back again in the reach to a touch.

Soon Van - Monday, April 9, 2007 - 20:01

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