conjecture

He handed me a bag of coins
Ones I couldn’t keep
Bound me by the wrist in jute
My soul he was to reap
The knots lay perfectly square
I saw
Perfection is clean sweep
~
He led me slightly to the left
In skewing picture through
Across the dusty street I fled
This isn’t a dream; I knew

I tried to lock the door behind
Perhaps it was a gate
He followed shortly from behind, spoke
& foretold me of my fate
“Make for me something, I’ve never before seen”

Speechless I agreed
He sent me off, departing I went in wondering

Is this really a dream?

At the tree line we were to meet
He knew me by the stars
& Opened up horizons For futures near and far
~
I had to seek his counsel
“Make this feeling go away”
Desiring nothing more
Than to not be led astray

I insisted on his helpful options
Yet still

He handed me the bag
He carried on unwavering
& calmly he explained
~
“I became a Cancer rising last night”
& I hung on all his words
It seems so certain till I realized
This is quite absurd

Instead of running I did stay
Slightly longer than desired
Tempting fate to bring down providence
In the halls of the mountain Prowler
~
His better half arrived
Taking rotten milk from my car

&
She hurled it out the window

(I merely watched in disbelief)

“Out of sight out of mind” she said “Purpose, passion, with a smile”

She chucked the glass Out near and far
Beyond my simple view
Beyond the moons horizon Over under, through and through
This action resetting both our scores
“Change the path to know the truth”

And so I did

~
I moved the crumpled note
Shifted slightly left of center
She carried on laughing
A tried and true mentor
~
Another met upon this path
To share in all the woe
Warm hand-off of new patient – to me – I’m supposed to help them grow
~

“I don’t have a license to practice,
Nor do I even work here; you see?”

I told them “this isn’t even my speciality” & yet responsibility falls to me
~
It didn’t matter in the end
For I wrapped ‘patience’ in blankets blue
And listened close, to their tales of woe
While I cleaned up shells of stew (it was crab claw meat I was cleaning up. i nibbled on some – it was good)
~
This tale is dreaming colors
And understanding for the lands
I could not heal the others’ wound
& learned this through and through

And
You cannot cry o’er spilt milk
Especially spoiled milk
True true

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