31 DAYS OF TAROT POEMS

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