[The juggler casteth a mist to work the closer]

Left the game to run riot, a further school
of abuse, of sorts. Trumpery to the finest,
a go-for-broke mass psychology, a clammy

handshake put to the test. Fell flat
on our gourds, stumped
in the fair fields of fair mire. We donated our tricks,

bag for bag, tic for tic. Ah, what for craft! What
for a melody, the path to love!
It’s not what the spoilers play, that dumb fuck-for-fuck’s

sake, that “see-what-I-did-when-you-weren’t-looking”
underhand way. A well-placed
peel, a pawn’s advance for the steal. Would like to take

on more. Another throw. This’s what we’re for.
We flip plurals by the thumb, we favor no one.

Note: Title from Stephen Gosson’s School of Abuse (1579).