Like History

I feel disconnected, but still personal.
It’s like a condition.
Something I need to explain away
for fear of the worst.
My stomach churns empty
and my eyes roll like dice.
I place my bet on my choices
but I have no idea of how the chips will fall
no idea where the ball will stop.
Maybe it’ll end sooner.
Maybe it will spin forever.

But who can afford to bet on chances?
Everyone who lives already is, does.
How is  it that we can find ways to exceed all other species
but still remain so unfunctioning in our own creations?
Society is what we make it, but all complain
of unhappiness
of suffering
of annoyance and bad temper.