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We’ve lost the count, yet one more time
My rook commits her silly crime
And breaches all across the board.
My “Sorry!” duly gets ignored.

You’re growing weary of these draws.
No “calm and eerie” smile, no cause
For other move. The empty chair.
Inertia permeates the air.

All past and present get reduced
To “game” (the aegis of the used).
The bloodless page takes every scratch:
My flawless heart, my broken sketch.