the syrup of enlightenment
page 19 of Tarot #6
I. bargaining baptisms in local lakes/ the syrup of enlightenment/
any takers of cheap woes/ of limp-lipped O’s/ pool of divine dribble/
mayfly metamorphosis and slick-back swimmers tinseled in scum like
some backwoods Bogman/ i swash celestial cast-backs/ pretending to be
palming the ash of ambitions/ little lives coalescing skyward until swiftly
corpsed/ ground-bound/ the routine of brief spectacles/ reprieve/ doubt on
the dining table/ re-grief/ bated breath/ release
II. I am stagnant as a safe synonym,
swallowing sticks of chalk to keep the board blank.
believe this: I used to kiss my fists.
I used to free-float in the sea-gargle
of God’s open mouth. sneaking into symphonies and
smothering mud-gospel onto saints white teeth.
fins in fractals; sunken petal; bogged down blanket.
my wet rag washes the rust off of crusted potential
only to be stained blind with the labour.
I guess I’m starting to wonder if it was worth it.