my hand
your hand
my other hand
your other hand
pull the bottom hand out
place it on top
myhand
yourhand
myotherhand
yourotherhand
pullthebottomhandout
placeitontop
mand
yond
mythand
youthand
pulthbothanut
platop
md
yd
moh
yoh
ptbho
piot
Good game. Well played.
Good name. Nell played.
Interesting idea you capture in this action-poem (that’s what I feel I should call it). The structure and the word play demonstrating the action of the “layers” of the hand game…simple yet effective
Good Gimmickry!! But a gimmick nonetheless… 
I think Marge was attempting to show the trajectory of a philosophical discourse, either between two people, or an inner dialogue. The point counterpoints converge and rush and fall over eachother and the inevitable blur of contentions, meanings, positions. Chaos. End game. An orgasm of manic silliness and chuckling if you’re Marge. Perhaps she’s down on philosophy these days and didn’t know how else to express it, or to whom.
I can almost see Marge in her autumnal frock, sitting on some cliff in a mountain town, at twilight, eating like a man and meditating on her blessed word “piot” pronouncing it in a monosyllabic pyot…a mantra containing something of a synthesis, a death, a merge (or marge, if you will) with the infinite.
Or, just a gimmick.
Well Gamer, when you put it like that…I see exactly what you mean
a soliloquy
to the chaos of the inexplicable…
the futility of language…
the game…
jackstraws…
She’s probably just feeling misunderstood. It happens. She’ll bounce back. If I know Marge like I think I do.
…perhaps Margie needs an avatar – something other than an eyeball.
PIOT, PART TWO (If I may, Marge.)
George is front and center
Ringo is back and center
John is over here
Paul is over there
Georgeisfrontandcenter
Ringoisbackandcenter
Johnisoverhere
Paulisoverthere
Geosfrtadcter
Rigoisckdceer
Josoverhere
Paiovrtr
Gerter
Rikder
Jovher
Piot
Gamer… clearly you’re bored.
Check out ‘the cat’ I need some feedback before I pass it in, real feedback that is.