A fortune teller sits at my gate

She wants to read my palm

I want her to go away

Instead I pay her my sous

and, becalmed,

I sit in the grass

her low table between us

A breeze curls round the tree limbs,

plays with the silver-lined threads of her sash

Her coal black rimmed eyes will not meet mine

but her hands hold mine

Smoothly, like a honeyed drink

She pours my life out on the grass.

“Your childhood was very lonely”

Her voice, as deep as a man’s,

has inserted its syringe deep in an artery of my soul

and is beginning to draw.

Drugged, I wish to beg for mercy, but say nothing.

I watch the silver sash trim dance as

the grass turns red.

“There is a complete lack of love in your childhood.

Here, suddenly, are many people.

Boarding school?”

I will not nod ascension.

I will give her nothing.

“This time is riddled with pain…yet there is friendship,

some friendship……much pain.”

The earth beneath me is beginning to feel damp,

soaked as  it is with my lifeblood.

“And a sudden marriage.”

Say it, we both know.

“You find happiness in this new solitude.”

Was it happiness?  Is that what

it was?      Is happiness

merely the absence of pain?

I’ve lost faith in my fortune teller.

The grass has begun to turn yellow again.  The

breeze is dead.

“Let’s see. Two children. One

died an infant.  The other…I see”

No, she won’t get off that easy.

“You see what.”

Her eyes, surprisingly amber,

reveal me.

“You failed to love your son.”


Limitless, I built you

A wandering sage for your echo

Reminder, you have been

a stone hut in a prehistoric cult

Look what you’ve become,

My behemoth

Your ruby mouth

Your die-black hair

Your perfumed limbs

Your garbage underpants

Your crude injections

Your silicone tits

and your envious eyes.

Tower, my humanity

Or tumble, as people, pretty marbles to the sea.