Elevation by David Cooke

Within a certain sweep and range
it’s us who make the rules.

Minor gods who play with dice,
we home in on shadows

as way beneath us life survives
each weary calculation.

Head shots, manhood, gravid wives …
Detecting trends, those below

think now it’s all a game.
If so, our skill controls it

on shattered streets where deadlock
reigns beyond bored bravado –

our steeled eyes vying
for a pack of smokes.         


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