Losing at Poker

Sometimes, when thoughts settle,
I imagine dropping through city air,
Waves buckle inside my chest,
I fall into falling careers of cars,
Sometimes when thoughts stay,
I imagine myself imagining death,
And it makes me sad to know myself,
I pity the pity in me as if to
leave my weight on the fast winds
that lift others into solid mediocrity,
I am a character in a musty book
and happier readers air my sadness,
Swirl it in cold glass to deepen flavours,
Speak of sacrifices made into chasms
with the abyss looking into me,
Confused with what it was expected to do,
Reminding me of the lawlessness
That governs the heaven as we string it
on numbers, to prophesy inert whims,
I am failed prophecies and gambling,
Poker games with a sleeping universe,
I am the space between decimal digits
That causes stars to collapse.