Hands done up in rose gold
You were a vision with a baby on your hip
Prone to meddle with crystals
As though you missed all other spiritual conduits
And as I'm hacking at a novel somewhere
Trying to comb the sparrows out of my hair
I'm thinking back about the time you read my palm
God, I hope you did it wrong
Bliss? Bliss is a flak jacket
I've since sought to expel
But I fear it's clear
That I'm not a shaman
So I'll keep my "cosmic revelations" to myself
I watched a revolution choke and sputter
I saw depression try to kill my brother
I heard Leviathan was living in a lake
Up near the border states
Back, back off the back porch
There was a demon in the bonfire we made
We formed an assembly line
To cart back buckets we had summoned from the lake
And even when all of the kindling had flattened
We were never certain anything happened
Besides the vestiges of smoke getting in my shirt
And smelling of the earth