ODE TO THE TWO OF SWORDS
so you practiced burning and the curtains caught fire;
you had memorised every detail of that motel room,
the identical bedspreads, the stain on the bathroom ceiling,
the sound the ice machine made at 3am.
you haunted every room and hallway
(is there a difference between a body and a crime scene?)
so you named every sharp object in every drawer after yourself,
names whispered to you in the dark, names shouted at you across the street,
names like blood in the kitchen sink.
(both can be red with love)
so you ascend from the rubble of that place,
baptised yourself in dirty water
and started thinking yourself as something religious.
let’s call it loving yourself and hope the mythology catches on.
(is there a difference between angels and ravens?)
so you’re through with throwing bones over the august asphalt
to try and figure out what happens next. now,
I’m listening to what the tarot tells me. we name this pain,
call it a fearless summer this year, come into the light.
(they both search for carrion)
the motel in ashes, the angels are flown, the wolves have left the yard.
you didn’t just build a bridge over this,
you built an entire city
and crowned yourself King.