Friday, 4 May 2012
About the tarot trumps, masters claim, the strongest
is the fool.
This morning, when a long-eared nut
confabulated out from my fingers into long, long grass,
away I flew! Oh no – my car – won’t start – the time! Come on!
Old melancholy whacked me hard inside like a pillow fight
and pity wrapped me in cloaks – like a sad, old clown
Andrew would laugh! In front of engineer, red king or purple pope
he’d use a fool’s strategy;
dance or smile,
hugging forces – like a yellow rose
exuding the garden for a while,
innocent and knowing – nothing – zero- footloose,
free and funny, stranger, stronger stuff – more like – inside,
deeply inside – out.