The Characters in a Tarot Card
The hounds peel open their jaws in the foothills;
These drought-fissured Badlands teeming
With veins. They smell the blood. Dig up the bones.
Munch on burial ground as though cremation
Could circle through their throats like communion wine.
This desert is an age-wisened womb that breeds
Mountains like Earth-staked monuments beneath
The wrong face in the sun: Crescent body smudging
Shadow across its cheeks like smoke damage.
The city that broke the wall. The two pillars
Left to plot the dust like gravel. Left like gates.
Opening to ground where Something might grow;
The underside of the moon propped
Up like a baby’s spine:
spitting up its roots.