The Fool Reversed
mindless indulgence
cracks the periphery of my existential crisis
where are my guardian Angels?
when have they hung themselves,
suspended—waiting for my bones to finally congeal?
addiction to the sting of
flagellation,
regardless of my being Atheist
the cards speak back when they are spoken to
Idly the incense rises
lamenting the kindredness of being alive and breathing together,
unable to move forward, in the same way that I came
I unravel from the web I spun
you are free to go,
the hunger has passed
Notes of a Dirty Young Woman 