Ideas about Probability

She asked if you were a gambling man
Your answer was spittle and despondence
The dew of glory and the dawn of ruin
Gliding along the pores of your heavy chin
At least you have leather at your finger tips
Natural resources are precious to the desperate
Materials unused, to be taken advantage of
By the lost one, the one who lost 
And one who also did lose
Is that you this time?
Or the time after?
Certainty can be an irritable companion

I see you, you with the sagging gait
Who would run away if you had energy
Left, in reserve, stored, kept and saved
But that isn't your style, cowboy, I know
Your mistress left when you could 
no longer afford the pretty gifts
Her curls are beyond tentative reach
You would rather not think about your wife
Not now, and don't plan on tomorrow neither
And the baby you did not buy food for last week
Even though you wanted to get the gall cuisine
A minor indulgence agreed upon by the inner counsel
Did you mean succulent? 
The whispers crawl from the telephone
Why live in the past when the future stretches out
before you go, and leave the car keys sweetie

The baby burps a brief good-bye
And the mother sighs like incipient gravel
Strung along the driveway of the house she eyed
Thinking of a family, the joker card endlessly fingered
Wondering when you would drag yourself home
All the while restraining the hopeless laughter
Circulating like a swarm of insect modules
created as an experiment in robotic
Socialization
Techniques

Go ahead, laugh, tickle yourself underneath the arm
Touch yourself because no one else will
Certainly not the gambler with coarse hands and
sappy lewdness emanating from the groin region
He speaks in breaths, artillery aimed to fire
You succinctly outline the importance of hygiene
In your mind you routinely fondle the mundane
Waking in the morning, the motions pass and you pass
Everything passes by, without the supple direction
Of the infant mind, the alien you must harness and
shape into acceptance and love and kindness
Holiness abounds when your vacant synapses
Join those thoughts and feelings of scathing denial

Progress

What will you tell yourself when the gambler strolls
Nearby, as if to visit and you shudder with despair
And you shudder with anticipation as your mind says
Turn, turn, turn
Into my life again
But the lizard is gaming himself 
With measured chances and inflated options
This time he is playing to lose, the unlucky bastard
With delusions of being two broad steps ahead
There are no more arrows and stakes to shoot down 
The opponent laps up his luck like juice and poison
Bathing in consequence, the defiant one lags
Who indeed absconds with the ghost of absence
and apt condescension
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