an Aotearoa poetry journal | ISSN 2744-3248

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Tarot #01

When It’s Cloudy Everything Is Dead; When It’s Raining Everything Is Alive; And When It’s Sunny Everything Is Bright, So It Doesn’t Matter

as the grey came to brood in a soggy sky, Charon mated with Karen—
the Epsom houses have been hollowed out

in the remnant of pith there lies a spider’s egg of wealth—
white sneakers, light fixtures, pressurised air

and seeing castles in the ozone, a throbbing palimpsest

Google Search: synaesthesia memory depersonalisation
                         mood swings changes in light, weather

no one can give me a fucking answer

and the cloud, it’s trickling into my skin, it’s melting me
into the footpath with the sweat I carry

you’re incredible, you know

still pounding the pavement, even with all that in your head

Google Search: is it normal to feel like

            to feel


the mind-vomit

what did you tell her? that it feels like living in a horror film

yeah, you’re fucking amazing


chattering ghost faces run the gamut
see the small world
rotting leaf is beautiful—drip drip
straw grasses, feeding warrums near the plastic flakes
tinctures: concrete sizzle, line vertical, bird-tail-flick, happy house-dirt
door open merging boundary;
wishes laughing in the humid air


the tips of the lemon leaves are winking with water
I’m catching the sunset on the swing of my hand

there is no substitute for the growth of a year
the hard-edged confidence that hands me an afternoon
with new and good people

and returning home to the cat
bathed in some combination of
viridescence and old furniture
and hope in the yellow