From the Balcony with Tarot

I spent the night and shared it’s embrace;
watching the rain of diamonds
and wrapped in a cold blanket
that kissed me all over like a lover.

The cards spent that night with me too.
They had become a face to my soul
and a portrait of the longings
of my heart.

They were laid out more times than I can remember
as a cigarette hung low over them,
The glow of the King of Swords and Queen of of Cups;
gazing at a ruined tower and Death, over and over again.

I had stopped
reflecting and shuffled the deck again
and knocked on them slowly,
with intent

I turned my numbed gaze to the
cards again, only to find they had not changed,
and wondered,
in that stare,
with vast, cool and unsympathetic eyes,
if the jump would hurt.

I tucked the cards into my pocket
and went back inside to write a note
to no one in particular,
wishing upon wish,
for the phone to ring
and she would be there again.

But it sat quietly,
like a silken cat
and stared at me.

The cards would be my carpet, I thought,
and I will ride them like Aladdin
through the sky and onto the pavement;
…they would fly with me.

Lighting another cigarette,
I shook out the match
and examined the open window
and the balcony outside.

I knocked the deck drew three last cards.

They fell like stones in a canyon
and I smiled as they had changed,
reflected in the amber glow,
and their gaze as well.

I reached for the phone
and dialed her number
hoping to hear her voice once last time.
her sweet, ashen voice,
and then end it.

Indeed, and as I expected,
she did not answer.

She was with him again, and I knew it.

I looked around again
at the rows of old magazines.
endless food boxes,
and the smell of decay.

And I did as he was told,
and rode the carpet.





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