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More from ~epimetheus

Breathing Season
Breathing Season

Spring is awakening
cracked cloudy eyes retreating from the dark edge of sleep
into sharp sunlight and the inarticulate voice of hunger
to discover the satisfaction of abundance
Filling in the missing months
with the flavor of fat from foraging

It is the release of wanting and waiting
The measure of held breath between trees
The anticipation of secrets within shells
and the pain of wounds from wombs
The untold stories of unborn babes
cutting beginnings from the morning
with the awkward motion of sharp legs

Spring is the breathing season
when the sky unlocks ice
and rain remembers falling
When the earth exhal
Gods and Idols
Gods and Idols

Being near her unexpectedly
was like staring into the eyes of an idol
filled momentarily with the spirit of God

Waking softly next to her
I realised the decadent distraction
meant only that God had gone
That Kind of Man
That Kind of Man

I am the kind of man
who wears his sins on his sleeve

Who stares into windows and mirrors
waiting to glimpse Narcissus
grinning in reverse

Who stares after ends of receding women
and envies their fullness and motion

Who stares at approaching men
and wonders how they taste in the dark

Who fits four letters into a perfect mouth
and spits them out like bullets
or mumbles them like rotten teeth

and worships the Word in place of a God
his mother carries close to her heart
A Yellow Dress
A Yellow Dress

A man with a drinker's nose can be found on greasy spring nights in a Maryland bar schlepping clams and beer. The parking lot is covered in gravel that grits its teeth as cars pull in from the road headlights cutting precise holes in the darkness. He drives a Cadillac. Its color is Timber Frost, but it looks brown under the dust. Somewhere, close in the dark, the sea rides itself onto the shore in pulses too small to be called waves.

He goes there after days when the air is full of something that quickens his pulse as he watches his secretary swish in and out from behind her desk in that yellow spring dress, cut in two by the
In the Beginning
In the Beginning

It would have begun with bones
the skeletal percussion of ribs and teeth
against the golden hammers of God

Scraping must have followed
the excess worn away
from the essential

There must have been stirrings of spirit
even then
behind the bones
as the outlines came together
A separation of sound from an undifferentiated darkness
the rising and falling of breath yet to be

Eyes next
empty in the darkness
but for occasional golden spikes of impact
and the silhouette of God
against the void

The thin lines of nerve laid within the bone
tight wires that jumped the body plucked
puppet's strings meant to make him s
In the Garden
In the Garden

We were there
in that simple garden
just you
and me
without names
or clothes
or memories
moving slowly in the silence
watching it ripple
like water
behind us

But that was not enough
and I said
'Show me what you look like
without skin'
and you smiled
and something profound
moved
behind you

With the simple grace
of undressing
you pulled yourself free
of all the things
surrounding you
until
you were something
without skin

Then you touched me
and I understood
that you would never be
anything
but beautiful to me

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November 26, 2011
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:iconepimetheus:
:star: Don't forget to check out our kickstarter: [link] :star:

The High Priestess is, essentially, the holder of space. This hardly seems a glorious attribution to give to someone I see as a figure capable of conjuring the powerful forces of the unconscious and making contact with the divine, but much of what I find degrading and inglorious about the concept of holding space comes from being raised in a highly rational, male-dominated society.

Read the rest here: [link]

:star: See all the cards and more at ChibiTarot.com! :star:

The Deck to Date
0 The Fool
I The Magician
II The High Priestess
IV The Emperor
IX The Hermit
XIII Death
XIV Temperance
XV The Devil
XVI The Tower
XVIII The Moon
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