Hands of Chance
form shadow puppets, shallow spirits
hidden souls born
skip across the evening piano, speeding allegro
fleeting little song
pour firewater liquors, for the tipplers
morning’s remorse
scar canvas with dark crayon, art seance
exquisite corpse
flick the card deck, bar bet
conjure lost kings
light his cigarette, fingers pirouette
now his heart sings
Chance, this little god
hands, of mortal blood
Jake Tringali:
Born in Boston. Lived up and down the East Coast, then up and down the West Coast, now back in his home city. Runs rad restaurants. Thrives in a habitat of bars, punk rock shows, and a sprinkling of burlesque performers.
Publications include The Manhattanville Review, Oddball Magazine, Rio Grande Review, The Commonline Journal, Aberration Labyrinth, and Five2One.
