Poetry Blogs (psychic)

Blind Alley (old poem)

The psychic grinned at me
as I slid her a twenty.
She slapped the cards down
and stared intently at them.
Her eyes raised
to meet mine,
and I knew the bullshit was coming.
Her mouth moved swiftly
just like her hands over the cards,
but all I heard
were my own thoughts.
She paused to let her words sink in,
but I thought about the pieces
that fel...

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