Tortoise shells said. Shoulder blades said.
Sheep ankles said. Entrails said. Tea leaves said.
Zodiac said. Flowers said. Shadows said.
Tarot said. Everything random spoke honestly,
And the interpreters lied desperately to say
Anything other than random. Combing
The regular patterns of the past, subtler
And subtler and subtler by observation,
By counting, by rigorous deduction of odds,
By algorithms crunching everything like fires
With nothing but a universe of forest in their path,
Came closest to the godlike power of perfected
Prediction. But there was still the fair coin in pocket
Because even when the very ends of the world
Hove into predictive, empirical view, what would
Be done might be probable but what was said
Before the doing had no definition and differed
By many random cracks and throws from the true.
What was said by the world was how the world
Would do the world, not what the world would do.
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