shiny race cars whiz
    around the monopoly board
    chasing flags and champagne
      in a head spin of burning rubber
      and thirty five million eighty-six'd dinners.

every roll of my dice
lands me in a pit of snakes
sliding down as i shoot to score
my shots and knocks
have chutes behind every door.

sensibility walks in
in a probability suit
      hooting that i won three raffle ticket draws
before i turned twenty-one
and that my sun crowed thrice
striking the same place
a wiggling wormhole mistake of rising too early.
      as i'm drunkenly bounced, 'to save face'
from my own party.

a taxman walked on water
or walked out of his own tomb
still i dig in his bag of tricks
wondering 'what else he can do'.
i paid him every month
even rendering Caesar his due
now that my leather gathers dust
in my time of dying
i stand cap in hand 
begging at his door
only for a drawer of daggers
to stab me in the back. 'hey, A for trying'.

never was aesthetically pleasing
to be a washed up has been

i'm on par for the so far so good steeple
but i'm swinging for an eagle.

motor-sport and politics
are bugs on my cracked windscreen
the lance in my side
and the spear in my rear
remains the same to this day
that idiot wind stealing my cigarettes
a crux shaped rash that just won't go away.

i may shake the water off my feather back
like a stick of melting butter
but the breeze blows
huffing and puffing leaky oil rig rings
that this fluffing puffin can't escape.

give me the cross or give me the chair
but that idiot wind
will steal all i hold dear.