The querent is advised to open himself to new
possibilities find me pouting beneath the limbs of life.
the woman offering the cup is beautiful but I already have
in the repetition, the circled chalice of my own unmaking,
filled to the brim with the optimism of bittered poison.
the woman offering the cup is beautiful but I already have
a way to enter every root, suck up the sweet earth’s kindness until
i am filled to the brim with the optimism of bittered poison,
on its way to the bark’s black heart instead of my own.
this way to enter every root, suck up the sweet earth’s kindness until
i can predict my own demise, the moment my sword makes
its way to the bark’s black heart instead of my own.
it would be easier to drink of the third cup, to die
predicting my own demise, the moment my sword makes
me a knight again. everyone says i am pouting here but
wouldn’t it be easier to drink of the third cup, to die
in the repetition, the circled chalice of my own unmaking?
~ Palm Reading
Image of me during a G+ hangout, with randomly drawn Ace of Swords and 4 of Chalices.
Words written in G+ write-in.
Time Taken Five minutes? Maybe six.
Brain on the N of 1, California hipsters, the joy of poetry and #VisForVagina
