seen from this side of the glass, poker tastes like gin

i think my brain is betraying me
or at least cheating,
stabbing me in the spineless cord
inverte-berating me

jesse says hindsight is 20/20
but only if i remember correctly did
i say yeah
my ass has grown eyes/
i go through a lot of visine/
does this chair look flat to you?

then again we were playing big blind little blind
which goes a long way towards
describing my ability to read people
never mind books
which i do so slowly
i read them in reverse

& the things i don't know
about playing poker flop
into the river of
known unknowns
(let's call it lethe
before i raise it to my lips again)
but it's probably the chips
that leave me with the redwhite&blues
when there's an apb out on my unknown knowns
my brain down on its luck
learning only that the state of lockdown
is called texas hold-em

at the end of the day,
the only stroke of luck
that really amounts to anything
is remembering,
vaguely
saying:
sure i'll have one--
might as well see
how i play when i drink

jumpin' juniper!
i feel like such a pocket rocket
scientist, so powerful knowing
what to call a pair of aces
(even unsuited)
burning a hole in my lifeline
(unless i'm bluffing &
can't tell my tells
from that
gaping maw in the middle
they call the pit [is it pot?]
either way the centre
cannot fold)

math was never
my best hand over fist
but i've liquidated my losses
like so much courage
flinging them like four champing bits
to the cardinal points on which pneumonics
devise their hooks unless that's
the vorti-cul d'amnesiac
my house of cards is built on

because i've still
got my verbetrade & my alfibbet --
with betrayal-for-brains
& a headcold in the folds
it doesn't matter what i think