The Marginal Line

The Marginal Line

The game has a fatal attraction

A joker that's playing for time

When you're holding black aces and eights

While you're playing for nickels and dimes.

And winning or losing depends

On what you can make on the deal

When the cards that will give you an edge

Are only the shreds of ideals.

While outside the neons are flashing

And girls hanging out with the boys

Reality's just an illusion

The light playing tricks with your eyes,

Contentment's a dangerous friend

When you live in the comfort zone

Where nothing is all that it seems

With uncertainty chance the unknown.

Though it's easy to lose your direction

And forget to watch out for the sign

As your life crosses over the points

Pass the stops on the Marginal Line.

Photograph: The river Blackwater flowing out

of Lough Ramor towards the Boyne

Summer 2007.