David Floren

Rookie - 2 Points (California)

The World Series Of Poker - Poem by David Floren

The World Series of Poker
Is no best of seven
When The Hidden Hand
Audits games.
Which is always.

Always, which is
Bigger than our times.
In these troubled times
Bigger is better.
Like the stakes.

Always (which is
Lustier than identity
Theft) the definition of
Deftness, most slippery.

Always, which isn’t
So much doldrums
Or salad days
as segues:

Downturns cause upturns.
A steady nausea
burns.

A slipperier narrative
Account of market forces
Always makes a dent.

The restless comparative
Dies without referent.
Who dangles the grapes?

Whose proverbial hidden hands
With gargoyle-knuckle eyes clenched
Were fated
to keep Adam Smith at bay,
and Greenspan unsated.

Always, which is
When someone’s unsated
Demand goes unsupplied.

A frightful metropolis:
Scarcity.

Never live there.
A poet’s lesson.

Demand more pairs.

And learn to live
without ones

With respect to living,
Which is always a which,
Where and why notion,
Whose potency never lessens.


[3-13-06 Berkeley, CA]

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, February 10, 2008



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