The hanged man and the fool

I miss the winter,
that chilling of the spine
reminds me I'm alive.
Nothing quite like
teeth-chattering reality,
I suppose.

You make me move
slither in and out,
unfold with me,
take me to that creeping show,
that you know nothing
at all about me,
deep down,
in the bone.

I saw the Hanged Man
in my dreams,
lay me down,
thus to rise again.
The red dragon ever purging
within me.
The Fool is laughing
because he doesn't give a fuck.

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