Manifestation
The triangle is completed six times over my religion. We desire a chalkboard. We equate painkilling magic wands to touch me, strangers, touch me! until I fall softly or wet smoke. It’s snowing inside your jackets. Writing. Demonstration. Rest. You’re in a classroom but you’re drawing in outer space. You’re sedating children but they’re your lighting fires. I’m humming the way I know you summon a mirror, light, and flares away
Death
My dear zombie tarot oracle,

	The sun appears as a plate of meat and makes us clones. I’m melting a line down my middle. The kill switch is somewhere between here. The anatomy is intelligent. Brains swap stories regarding sutures. Every time you lick, part of an alphabet appears, on my elbow, or here on my temple is left a big fucking medallion of your heart. Everything save the heart is bilingual, that is, until you arrive and spell
Atomic Yggdrasil Tarot
Guess what. I hold in my arms my arms: a raga drone sheep gratuitously baaing we’re not in love with the modern world. I replace its head with a psychedelic. I give it a bionic leg holding an anelace of steel. We make synthetic eyes at the other sheep, we hear occasional bird calls. I realize how confusing we’ve become. Poor sheep. Every tear is over kinematic chain gang. We’re either going to superlevitate or not. Our future selves are already debound. The sheep runs away: my arms singing hymns