Hard Rules of the Game

you cannot hearten me
encouragement is barred
the hard rules of the game are set
admit that you are wrong
I am right as night,
a serpentine chorus
in a sephardic lovesong

what are fragments for
else but pushing idly
into new shapes on tables
spilt wine doodles
thrill the soul as finger
dabbles moodily to and fro

the evil that men do
has been told thrice over

across the way the pale
smudge of an owl the bare
chestnuts obliterates
it feels if I try I will
see things in eye corners
night falls fast in pulses