Tarot Woman
Tarot Woman
The Tarot Woman
Sitting at the round table
Her hands reach into empty corners
Pulls back the dust storms and heat
And important small news for you.
It doesn’t matter she never gets up
But lives there as you do
The light pours from her into a shallow bowl
That is always full
Drink as much as you can there is more.
It burns the lips
Drives away the illusion
You are not there
Effortlessly
She shuffles you into her pack of cards
Of idiots and wise men
And the magicians are restless as dawn
You learn what comes as often as tomorrow
Is an empty coffin which you fill
Up with your body
And bury each night.
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