Seven Swords

Tarot of the Sweet Twilight VII of Swords

Tarot of the Sweet Twilight

Dragon fly wings and her eyes
orange lips licking the butterfly
strange man streaming from her hair
flying things

Angry fierce flowers transform red lines
into swords piercing
the head
the green fields
faces out of the mind
pink and blue like flames
wavy in the sea of air

Thoughts flutter through the fabric
bursting the largest
flying striving thing
below ringed like a worm

They fly everywhere up down right
but none go left where the back of the head is
the flying falling one’s left hand is lopped off
reaching up the same as her face

Starbucks I

Where are you from
man with an accent?
hot places
of palm trees and sand
while here I sit
inside the familiar coffee shop
with army-colored walls
and blood on the ceiling
from all those
caffeine-exploded
hyper-brains
wondering about a stranger’s accent