Leveler Poetry Journal
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Pattern Bluffer


We shake on it, but the fanfare is dimmed by the chummy


adieu and specimen detective pose I take that I think


looks good as I get smaller


Cue layover montage to stash my daily fabling in


‘To wait is a sport now or science,’ he had muttered, more featureless


horizon than actually standing there


making a bet     I scanned


myself for laws and found none, and now watch his wave like a bellows


boost with minutes what present we have left


I am already readied


I diagnose the exit with Acute Crummy Odds


Those footsteps’ minuet of fading out, I think,


have their simpatico with any crooked inch I have marched before


Still I’ll send my letters to a desert with Internet, roam our ratio to its lopsided max, and


if something of us should spill in that rickety arithmetic, I might win


I might greet it like North with my compass alone

Peter Milne Greiner