“Deal of the Week” is an updated take on the horoscope column. One card, bad advice, worse poetry, every Monday.
Note: So I pulled the Death card two weeks in a row, and it felt pretty significant. This week, I’m sharing a longer poem to further explore this card.
When it drains
you’ll feel like sucking
back to black
roses like the sun;
you’ve heard what they say
about breaking eggs
to make a baby, you
just never thought the
cracking would be up to you.
But when the shell bleeds dry
and the last drop fries
the cracking mess is soothing,
it looks like the internet, it looks
like cuneiform, it looks like a whore,
it looks hungry, it thrashes limbless,
swims and squirms and suffocates, grows
mucus in the cavity where the scorpions crawl in.
And to think it cared the whole time if we were to just keep
breaking oracle eggs and then glasses and then appliances
to receive increasingly complex transmissions,
to listen closely to what the seething spores divine.