I love talking to strangers.
And running with scissors.
If you jump right off of the bridge, so will I.
I love me in the mirror.
Angling at my self-worship.
Speciously, faithfully, generously applied.
It would be a privilege
To die in my twenties.
God, what an awful long time I’ve been alive.
I am a Knight
Riding out in my armor.
Justice awakens its full ice cube eyes.
Salaciously drinking
From Cup after cup.
Sick in the morning.
The doctor prescribes
More poetry, then I may
Lie in my bed;
Head ringed with asphodel, rainflowers, and smiles.
The latter are coming from a smirking cypress.
Swords caught in its branches;
One, two, three, try.
Seventeen magic wands.
Who could need so many?
I grasp them with seventeen hands
While I cry.
this is beautiful with its symbolism, like an unraveling mystery that i cant understand 🙂
i recognise the tarot tho i always forget their meanings, i think 7swords and seven wands were in the last reading i had tho can’t remember which way up they were, nor the question i asked. 🙂
I feel like, unless I write them down, my readings do their job and then flit right out of my head, leaving me only with a new perspective, but not where it came from : )
🙂 i can relate with that
I agree. The ancient Greeks believed the gods loved those who died young. I think life really ends at eighteen anyway. I’m in my twenties and have somehow survived too many accidents and perilous activities. I fell in love with a tarot-reader in Istanbul who told me I was going to die young and I’m still waiting. Besides, living past forty is just bad manners.
So you recognized the Tarot. Of course you did. I think living past forty is bad manners for artists. Some people are so delicately lovely all the way into their nineties that taking away even a moment would be a hideous crime. Those are the young ones. We old souls just do a disservice to the earth by crowding it up with ourselves for too long.