Rolling the Dice

Dice,

Falling,

Gravity pulls

I threw them in the air,

now they must land somewhere.

On the table, they do a dance,

Rolling, tumbling, spinning,

so many combinations

could come.

No skill required at the outcome.

But my intent is everything.

For I picked up those dice

from that table

while all the rest just stared,

drink in hand,

in a perpetual daze.

Waiting.

Time slows, stretching out like taffy

pips tease then disappear

to taste a different future

as corners turn and angles

fly in a  latticework of physics,

a mysterious inertial

balancing act.

In favor or against

In favor or against.

Fate, a whim or not?

Fate is a fickle bitch.

But I will get into

bed and fuck her in the sheets

anyway.