You can see it on the surface,
how Tarot cards brood
in backroom conspiracies.
And we are all whispering
into thin, superstitious air,
like a pack of crazy Jokers.
Collective paranoiac misgiving...
How's that for abstracting
the juice from life's liver?
Was Max Weber the Ace of Spades,
digging up dark sublimation?...
digging for the bones of God
Protestants had ground into
the Spirit of a corporation?
Everything is whispering
old words of Conspiracy.
Oh, it's all a joke that no one's telling,
and it goes like this: "Dada, Dada, Dada?"
But not really a joke. Rather a form
of oil to grease the gears of progress...
obeisance to the Governor of Mechanism
that keeps us grounded in foolishness
so we don't float off to the Tarot Moon.
What a puffed-up speech, you Fool!
Say...I wonder what it feels like
to be inside a granite rock? No...
that's not quite right. Rocks are not
really very sentimental. What I mean
is that a rock is simply there,
as stunned as Satre puffing on
his nauseating freedom cigarette.
Mattering can freak you out
and make you say spacey things,
especially if you're spinning
round in a barber's chair, to get
a trimming so you'll pass as sane.
“Flip me over! Flip me over!”
says the top card of the pack.
“I'll show you something startling,
how nutty-love can make you saner
than a quipping gravedigger.”
Oh, bother!...my head is drifting...
"Pick a card...I'm only holding one.
So why don't you choose it? Decide
and act and be responsible. Choose
this radical floating Ace of Space.
It might be hard to get a grip on,
but that's why it's so valuable.
Good for you! Now you've got it...
a place to keep your mind in."
Where does that red stripe,
spiraling up the barber shop pole,
go to when it reaches the top?
This is serious business. Stop
this cascade of nonsense.
But what else is there to do
while my bones turn to ocean salt
and heat is gyring in my head?...
when woman dances always deep
and symbols sigh inside her eyes?...
when Tarot cards are shadowing
the movements of all circus swingers?...
when I'm without a key or wand
and feel like such a Fool?
I know!...yes, I'll stop and shuffle
all these dreams into the Dream.
I'll splash some presence on my face
and try to write some kind of poem.