Sandra Simonds


from debris tarot


That is the trail yonder       beyond the river
Behind the owl’s neck    turn        with one arm pointed to the stars and the other toward the

reclaiming the world       walked in sugar and starch            the trail infinitely sweet

               Magician of forked tongues and the wind is a 3:45 appointment with
A sleigh of crystal ready to take you to your destination if it be [sincere]
I have a realm of sorrows tucked in like a bed sheet at sun up
A sleigh of mirrors and nickels
    When the children search for small tadpoles in the Alps
Magician of forward fingers the crystal sleigh pulled up to a frowning gully
Of cosmopolitan mud and wet leaves are:

The empress of daytime
How she holds her wreath of frame board houses
The empress at noon
A white hand on her embroidered dress
A chariot of pines
And slaves
How sweet the empress with her horn
Of bone
Blowing into the Eastern sky
Do you know the Empress holds the keys (of luck?)
Do you know                                                                                her      heresy Heirs High
                        Alps bed of Saturn Flowers         {a satellite spins} and the sky is a
             frequency of percentiles

                        or pentacles of lust-light-

                        No    not to lay bare the shifted dream of the world’s two batons
                        (Nicht)                       judgment is a Red Cross flag at dawn with a blood--
wing and 5 gray men underneath the railroad trilogy


how dare his golden feet to touch      !the heavens!
      how dare his scarlet tights and pleasant grin
to know his tree to know his blue smock and collar
     how dare his white whistle hair
to know his humid lips and curve of yellow         skin sockets

here here           .wasn’t it time for a ripe apple?  Clear water the chest is not
         thorough as a botanical garden mid-summer equipped with  lens attachments
spandex  jumpsuit
                                      moist under-wire       bra & sincerity
is a cheek flushed
black cloud

mind the memorandum    on the ear drum capitol twirl
ragtag as a hermit better yet
                                        camouflaged as a prince of charms eaten away the core seeds

in the seeing glass city of footprints and chocolate bars a ragtag stranger approach
the bench

           in the zoo brain garden the ragtag stranger farewell that city of mine
       for the yonder distance a horsefly …saddle up

but I could not       emphatic as CLACK  little good does the cheap insulation and grid
system these sewers o
city of mine

clearly the dawn hiss
of dew crazed
for water she held out a frying pan said… “drought me nothing”

none has better chance for survival {hold:   a twig out over the cliff and} in
                clearly the dawn gold           shot of the leper’s sore tongue
and he rivaled no other
that city

                   Shaken as a beard’s spit                         my friend sent me letters without
Exception to the fancy of my brain trees growing putrid fruits

Shaken as a finger in that direction of yonder hey westward hey onward hey-ho
A bluegrass
For sunset a banjo player for desert highway you watch

  So soon shall I conquer the underworld of traitors and thieves tractors and midnights


To walk down Broadway ready to pawn the old soul fluids
     To walk down Broadway searching for memorabilia of the God-parks
To walk down Broadway with a staff as a forefinger you might regret it
To walk down Broadway compressed as a metaphor of gas
         To walk down Broadway ready to pawn your life for a bridge and a gold-tipped

(I had better)
                                                     Putting an end to the spectacle should have spoken of
To domesticate the horse                       words like gallop and trot
Wild one as prairie grass
                     My hands had sores from mites and little tick sufferers who cannot live
           On anything but life itself
Addicted to Broadway’s flesh I walked with a
Collapsed eardrum
Of rainwater

Dear Mr. Smith,
 to shuffle a pack of trick
Cards under a landscape of twenty threes         and should
     stars be combed from the earth’s fine dirt to find
One glowing

Stone  (cold as camphor) in the chest cavity
Your honor                                              I would be honored to

trust your judgment as mine             sits impaired as a flashlight
In the blind light of nothings

                                                                                                          To have spoken of twilight
                                                                                                          amidst the speech nothings of
                                                                                                          To have spoken there

                                                                                                          As much as here
                                                                                                          Just as mud is a guru
                                                                                                          of              bits and
                                                                                                          leaf bit
                                                                                                          wave   bit
                                                                                                           particle bit  nothing bit or be