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,
discover
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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