another cyrptic fortune telling device-
this archaic machine, it’s a wonder it still worked..
in this modern age, our oracles are found in
jet trails arcing and coming to crux
across the sky in white and silver plumes..
or in the shattered glass, in heaps of dust and
the faintly glittering sentimental detritus
(the same that litters my floor, my heart)
cards or bibliomancy, entrails and hair
it matters not, the symbols will appear
regardless- in this case, it was an antiquated
weighing machine- the scale obsolete
the knobs you cranked to fix your query-
mine were two:
what do i dream of at night?
the answer read;
MISFORTUNE
naturally i chose another-
what do i long for?
the response;
RECONCILATION
my scapulae strain to be free of these bonds
every nerve, every fibre tender and bruised bloody
my mind rusted into jagged edges, alternately
corruscating and chaotic- i wander through
the graveyard of dead machines, squandered dreams
little things to fill the hollows,
innattention, innamorati..
i walk leaden through the halls-
hoping for the hallowed home
let me stay and rest..
i simply cannot think anymore
but must not pause in this tidal
shifting and building-
struggling to tear off the cauls
of illusion shrouding my ration..
bury my heart in the cold dirt
hide it away until spring comes in full
to hibernate, leech all of this
senseless longing from those red chambers
until it is forgotten, and new.
i can be an automaton until then,
walking and talking activated
from a remote location,
deep in the mountains.
as much as i try to train it,
indifference is not a natural instinct,
thankfully nor is hatred..
unfortunately, somewhere over the lines
it’s turned inward, face turned away-
in ascetic relief i hold myself together,
tightly bound in pure will.
in my dream
i am standing in the garden
it is raining down over me
soaking the thin dress, running
through my hair, over my skin
in rivulets, snaking tendrils..
i stand gasping at the gate,
my hand on the latch
my eyes blinded by silver water.
i haven’t dreamed it yet-
i have to wait for the rain,
the clawfoot my birdbath-
i wait for all this to change.