Bruce Morton
Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. His poems have recently appeared in Grey Sparrow Journal, Ibbetson Street, The BeZine, Impspired, Galway Review, and Muddy River Poetry Review. He was formerly dean at Montana State University Libraries.
Casino
No one has the time. But is there time?
You bet. It is a strange and surreal place
Where there are no windows, no clocks
On the walls. Time and smoke suspend
In the midnight glare of a circadian desert.
Everyone tries their luck and their luck
Tried, tossing or turning, sleepless,
There is no leverage to be had—none—
Yet so many are pulling levers, feeding
Insatiable machines abetting an addiction
To hope held in check only by the leash
Of disappointment, salved with a wash
Of stale music, a cacophonous bad beat
Of bells and sirens calling and free drink.
Blink and flash mesmerize and distract
Until appetite and self are so exhausted
That all vigor belongs to the house.
Sheila-Na-Gig online 