31 DAYS OF TAROT POEMS

Queen of Cups & Four of Wands

dreams invade brutely 
they are fully ripened knockings 
on bolted portals, 
 
secured by bones of old towers, surging
 
how do you unfasten, unrip, untie, unpin?
how are you still volunteering yourself to dolor when you have so many other fucked up pleasures to unwrap?
 
it’s a carnival
eat heavily and eat sloppily
gorge on your own death march
 
Falling deep              into sleep 
I am composed of prayers and I am the shushing,   
the undone  
    of what God would have done with me
had I never been—
 
X out all the pearls that haven’t surfaced yet, 
caught between the vertebrae of my happiness and the metacarpals of my thirst
 
the ones that do spill out of me
burst in small laughter 
in small epiphanies inside the right temple
 
celebrate me 
as an antecedent
love me
as the consequence