The chips are down again, pale
and greasy against the mossy green,
mine yours, somebody’s who carelessly
let himself slide under the table.
High Rollers is the song being piped
in from the spaces above; you shake
and shake a cupful of dice, rattle and
make silly eyebrow talk at the croupier
until they bubble up, overflow and swirl
around us in clouds of raw numbers.
I bet a pretty penny against them all,
raise the stakes, make it double or quits.
It’s no matter in the end. In an infinite
universe all sides face up somewhere.
(Originally appeared
in the November 2011 issue of Subliminal
Interiors)
