Here it is again: you, falling
from another heaven at daybreak;
sob of thunder, waking, to play agin
against the dealer’s fixed chips.
You know you won’t get out of here
alive, but can’t keep yourself
from trying.
Meanwhile, outside leaves
pearl hot beads
of late-morning mist
alert and insistent––
long past the hour
when the last god slipped
from leaking basket
of a drowning heir to call
after one of the prophets
groaning another toothache
from too much gnashing of teeth
to make another now from the next
application of warm rum
to gums stayed through mornings
by sleep.
There is so much
more to do, and we with teeth
still in us, some keep on
keeping,
biding time.