Distraction
It’s a specific side.
The one with frayed edges where
Paper fibers are disrupted from the interwoven
Pattern of rules calculated to win points.
No one can see the perfect matrix.
The fibers that are interlocked with each other
So tightly, so smoothly, are no longer in
The game that coerces and cajoles to win applause.
Only the imperfections remain to be seen.
Those fuzzy fibers look at you like iron
Shards attracted to magnets, sticking out menacingly,
Read to play.
This poem is about:
Me