House of Cards

Slowing slouching sleechly slecter,
I’m imbibing my nine cats these days
From out of the house of cards
Which I have made over the rainbow’s waterfall.
All kinds of winds go through here,
But my structure is intact, thanks to deals made with
Gods or
Beings who possess such power.

Are you in a position to give it?
Can you build a house out of mere
Matter?
The old one I built long ago was from the materials of
Memory and possession,
Meaning,
Lost to the histories of houses even as the
Spinal shapes of pre-born euphemisms were
Arching up the taillights to my door.

I cannot count the images.
They come forth like a deck of cards;
My hand is the player,
Your mouth is the one that changes color from the
Inside out,
And none of us have ever (or could ever) receive the
Gift of finely-wrought light that travels on the backs of cards and
Reaches its fingers into our uneven thoughts which take place before words and memory.

Now.

Isn’t that the most liberating color?
Does your soup turn in its bowl before wishes are made?

My house of cards sits on top of a waterfall,
Below and behind all the ready-noise of
Your retarded children
Who have broken everything, everything,
Broken it all.

But this house stands true, and above water and sound.
Sweetly swing the licking springs of your own ticking time from
Up above the dust of my vision, and
You are invited here
Always
Always
Before there was nothing.