We live as a cog
We take notice
When people are missing
Importance is everyone
Our heads?
We may doubt
But dharma is shown
Tarot, divination, vision
Inside
Grandmother is inside
Meditation collides
So we know
We are one
We know you
Though through fighting
We’re blinded
Yet cannot escape
Our wheel
Our cog turn around.
It’s no longer a crazy game
Of hand feeding hand.
Lust is not lost and
Games never end.
But look, it’s midnight.
My eyes have become swollen
With misery and trying,
And I’m loosing the edges
Of my bitter plan
For tomorrow.
I never hoped for you,
I never crossed my fingers
And bled questions into my
Well worn Tarot cards.
Here I was lost.
No. Here I wasn’t lost,
But it was here that
I began to remember
Who had soiled these sheets
With kindness and piss.
I cannot discover pleasure
Lurking behind bass cabinets.
I cannot look any longer
Into the abyss of your eyes.