Divining Inflexions 2017

I throw you a deck. “Je vous les tires.” 

Caught in the folds of the catchers glove, he curved the deck and threw it back.

Was it a discarded forfeit, or an approved accolade? 

Marching in-between the gestures of another hand, the folded faces followed their assigned suits. As the “Beguiler” foolishly danced amongst his cues, the “Weavers Spindle” grabbed and fleshed out the deck into a mass of pleats. Fold upon fold she laid in the creases and weaved them in and around her beloved spindle. Arcing every line over and under and around she folded its flesh and hung her deck into a pair of makeshift cloaks. The points she hid within every pleated curve inflected and began the movement of the was, the is, and the will be.