Raining in Brooklyn 11.29

Half-lighted streets,

shadows stained with graffiti,

a journey to the witch’s hut,

damp.

The doors were open,

he, in the back, gave a smile of understanding,

British?

I walked in marveling,

handsome creatures they were – silken scarves,

they smirked of course knowing too much.

“Sit down here” – gothshe said closing the door behind,

“Only the truth – nothing but it”,

so there I surrendered,

“Fire you are, Disciplined, Solo”

“Second, a master of intuition – let that be your compass”

“Third, those that leave felt belittled by the strength and energy”

What else did the cards say?

“Forget this draw, before I saw ambition in your footsteps. Endless wealth.”

“Beware though of 1-2 who suck the energy and light of you”

Who are you. 44 with experience. Viewer of the new moon. A history of lovers.

I left the cook cranny,

as I walked past the interracial friends with nose rings, both with a calm demeanor,

I couldn’t help but wonder –

That was a raw experience, but only a game of stronger intuition.

Rich was Brooklyn in its experiences.

I walked onto the dim streets,

and took the late night subway home.

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