Turbulence

Eight of Pentacles Reversed

badges of exhaustion cringe at tasks unearthed
                   body climate soars
                  a desert and a storm
              the gods beneath the feet, 
                  cling to hauntings, 
              cling to years and decades 
                           extracted—
           a rupture in the skin
                         composed
                           of predatory meditation…
we burn ourselves to grow
a flame groans in soft bones 
a nest of cotton beckons
nuanced whores
bathed in their reflections—
winter skies brew peculiar roars, 
mechanical birds full bellied 
full bore
 
destiny calls, 
if only you’d listen
instead of swallowing
your self-imposed room
your self imposed metaphor
heavy singed hips
rattles,
a snake burdens dreams
sleep now
wake to the sound of stretched limbs