Left Hook
They suggest we flip a coin, even insist.
A winner could be randomly named. Ain’t
trust them. Object gaffed icosahedron. Win,
lose, draw. More, more, more. Phony, gunky
feigners. There’s a title fight coming. Verdict
highly proximate. We won’t agree an alternative.
Maybe we’re forearmed. Maybe we aren’t. Lick
a palatable sample, dice thrown. We were rickety,
us two, we attended a fall festival. Charcoal above
colorful, fairground lights. Blue Pearmain apple air.
You played a nostalgia-inducing carnival game
called Down the Clown. I was right behind you.
Petite example, rigged isn’t the end, only a factor.
We were fitful victory, minus trophy. We’re much
closer now. Impending fray cannot be abrogated.
Our competition, a Plutonian contest. We could
achieve our largest desires, we might flop trying.
Tackle that beast. Maze, ground plan, capability.