every friday I exit the subway
a gypsy woman beckons to tell fortunes
promise detail of the future
slipping homemade flyers held by rumpelstilskin hands
discarded and ignored
gypsy eyes follow up austin street
stood waiting outside mardi gras
I stepped out into the last burst of down sun
the voice a slight breath
"miss, I know your future."
slipping a crumbled card ink ran numbers
those eyes followed me into dreams
restless wondering like Nebuchadnezzar
what did it mean
tortured elemental images
revisit Jung for answers
I sought the gypsy down the cul de sac from whence
up rickety steps
behind red velvet curtains
sat no crystal ball
soul revealed through vein lined palms
fortune told required compensation
none accepted
confuse and pensee
secrets I held to heart
told to me by a gypsy

© 2010 Lepadah