All Just the Same to the Chessboard

If it's all just the same to the Chessboard
then it doesn't really matter how many moves it takes
for all the everything you have in your hands
to get took away or tipped over and
sobbed about.
And the kids who say they're pawning you off
at the bar ain't never had to hawk a saxophone
for the five or fifteen minutes it took
to get fixed and then fucked
on the Far Side of a Bum Horse anyway.
All maybe just squawking junkies
without the genius.
So what does it matter
if the Board don't care?
Those Birds ain't never tasted True Blue
so fuck 'em.
Like it's all just the same to Paris
to Kasparov
to the Deepest Color of the Ocean or any simple sea
named after Whoever
where there's all that swimming and
all that sinking.
Where there's all those moves without
any fucker or computer keeping count
no clock to slap
aside from the sandy bottom you hit
or the crisp surface you break
or the reef that scrapes blood from your belly
to stink up the whole place and get it crazy
like it's all the just the same to space


...
decided to combat all that old with a little new. this is my most recent piece. i wrote it in a mad dash the other night at a bar (4100 in Silver Lake, to be precise) after a day of junk food and beer and whiskey with my brother and some friends. Not sure if any of that's relevant, but full disclosure seems to fit the theme of the poem, i suppose. so, in that spirit: we also went to Cha Cha Lounge and had Hungry Howie's pizza for lunch. and played Marvel Ultimate Alliance 2 on the xbox. i mostly alternated between Thor and Luke Cage.

-andy