A house of cards
Jokers pressed to kings
Weak to the strong
From the outside
A series of wishbones
Not knowing when they’ll snap
Perhaps in a lonely bed
Or in a crosswalk
While busy vehicles conceal the sound
Of plastic surfaces tumbling flat
Yet they’ll rise again
As they always do
With weary hands
And bated breath
Begin again
As the tower grows
With no projected elevation
Fingers stall, hesitate
Wondering, for a moment
If it is better to start again
Or finally fold



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