Casino

A villanelle poem.

I told you so: you can't get there from here.
Your hair smells like a smoking cigarette,
like that one habit that won't disappear.

It wasn't easy to hold hands and sneer,
to step on bones and souls shaped like regret.
I told you so: you can't get there from here.

A fleck of blue, a feign of sudden cheer,
and I transform into a careless bet,
like that one habit that won't disappear.

You played the cards and tried to persevere
while falling off the carousel roulette --
I told you so: you can't get there from here.

I'm trying very hard to make this clear:
obsession makes a heady kind of debt,
like that one habit that won't disappear.

It's done -- this is the last -- you're so sincere!
Then listen to these words you can't forget.
I told you so: you can't get there from here --
like that one habit that won't disappear.