Tarot Reading at the Gargoyle Store
The place is full of heads. Mouths open in a way I understand.
I’ve wanted things to leave me that badly, with such watery force.
Stone skin seems scary until you think about it: really, no one
could touch you. Not even the grubby-pawed child who reaches
to pinch your nose closed, not the teenage girl who origamis
her gum beneath your chin. The store owner wants to know
if she can help me with something and I almost tell her the truth.
My spine is full of spiders and the man I love has left me for
a bell-tower hairdo and a cut of prime throat. Instead I ask
if she will read my palm. Really, I just want someone
to touch me again. She shuffles the deck instead.
Seventy eight steps toward a new beginning.
The dog beneath the table lifts its many heads
to eat the coins from my pockets. From the ceiling
a wingless angel swings. My heart stinks of
pomegranates and dust. The cliff is near.
Image taken with iPhone.
Words written with coffee.
Time Taken 5 minutes.
Brain melancholy in its grey matter.