reading

I want to eat my Tarot cards.

Swallow them in formation,

in a seventy-eight ring of

philos.

Then there would be no shuffling.

They would just appear on my tongue,

fashionably late, in their proper

orders.

I don’t know why the Cups are

upside down.  And why Temptation

locks its tree-trunk arms,

oblivious.

I do know you are always a

wand.  Sometimes kingly,

or immortal child; always

wild.

I am power, I kill home,

I chain myself to trees,

I cannot feel you anymore, I

sleep.

If I did eat them, the Tarot

would fly out when I sing,

and you would see new

pictures.

31 Comments

  1. Personally, I think you already possess the wisdom … maybe you’ve already ingested them, digested them, and allowed them to speak through you? Or perhaps I am just Fooled by the Empress in all of her less than obvious power …

  2. “If I did eat them, the Tarot
    would fly out when I sing,
    and you would see new
    pictures.”

    Loverly!

    Takes me to Ezekiel and his scroll: “Eat this scroll and go speak.” How rare to ingest picture and words. Most of us are content to gaze at them behind glass and then move on…

    1. there is subtle muscularity in conceit, the bestest trick: receipt.
      – Samantha Eggar Allen Poe.

      I really like your cooking, Honeybunch! (one trusts one is not being too footwear in one’s enthusiasm for your stuff)

      G

    2. Nice structure and style. Really Plath-esque in content but with its own particular form though the syntax is very reminiscent of her work. Fully dig it.

Love you, too

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