It might help to know what the puppet-master drinks

“The mind going/ over and over things, not knowing what to do/ with the world…” ~ Rick Barot

Is it possible to know before something happens?
Subterranean current, small worm of insight, the hair
rising along the arm in anticipation of a wound.

What constitutes portent? The pink heart
of a rubber eraser carries the smell
of burning asphalt. Peeled

hard-boiled eggs, or the emanations
of a volcano? The mirror refuses
to divulge the hour

of your death. It is clarity sought
after all when you give the fortune teller
what she wants, but keep paying in installments

every time you dream of teeth, every time
you buy a new umbrella though there are
more than a dozen hanging on the railing.

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