the prophecy of tea leaves

what's in the cards? 

is the maker our mother/father/sista'/brutha' from anotha' mutha'? 

as we trounce through the muddy, wet drops 

after a rainfall's deluge, 

are we abject? 

grimy? 

do the sordid splashes speckle us with muck 

or instead, 

might we be purified? 

cleansed? 

purged of the sins of the day-to-day? 

assuaged of the sometimes-never-constant-idiosyncratic-wonder of it all?

grey clouds yield the wet of summer rain, 

sporadically. 

in the skip of heartbeat, 

fragments of a momentous retrieval of regret 

are subdued 

by the quell of a balloon-billow 

in- 

or 

ex-

halation. 

does fear subdue the wish of the shy? 

extinguish the hope of the dreamer?

 in the quash of squelching that secret, simple, sometimes-surety, 

are we 

better 

or worse. 

do you say it say it say it as tracy recommends, 

or 

instead, 

let the cool crush of servitude wash over the pebble-grey-stillness of the unknowing mind...

do we 

can we 

will we 

ever know? 

is it for us to know, fathom, concoct, retrieve?

in the skimmed-hot-brim, of a tea-cup's leaves?

or, thrown to the wind, 

is the will of the sun-stars-God-(ess), 

simply, 

whatever will be.

hard times

yesterday afternoon as i zipped through a quiet residential neighborhood in the heart of town, whistling the morning-edition-jingle & cajoling-the-beckons of my three year old nephew to 'wait' for his chocolate-with-rainbow-sprinkles donut,  i was struck with overwhelming, defeatist-sadness. physically, i felt my heart plunge, deep into its center, or more likely, down to my knees & then past my toes. there in the midst of bicycle-strewn-driveways, freshly bloomed cosmos, family-dogs, and foxglove's droopy-blush-pink-bells, was a disturbingly unwelcome, steely-red container. it would seem only the devil's handiwork could possibly expend the energy to disperse the silky-woven-web of a family's whole life into the scattering of remnants, piled higher than the rigid, rectangular walls could muster strength to accommodate. FORECLOSURE, signed, sealed & permanently delivered. 

irreverent

on my knee caps

praying for the wind, sun, rain to squelch fear, aspiration, wish

laden with the guilt of wander 

torn asunder...

distraction.

temporarily scatters and fractures into shards of forgotten, reflective, contemplative moments

how can it be, that the balloon-gust-filled-to-the-brim lid of it has erupted into the entropy which is now every

thing? 

interlaced, unmovable feast of that to be preyed upon

the mind, a vast cavern of ubiquitous, unfathomably cognizant, momentous-fragments of grace.

light, trapped; refracted into a million-little-indigo-hued-droplets of hope.

fly away, balloon-hope-wish; burst forth into the heavens, send forth your goddess-manna. feed me some more.