By Rebecca Allison

Hand me the tarot cards. ‘Ology over ‘onomy. Plant your words. The future written in particles. Thousands of miles, the distance to their dance floor. Atoms mambo to the beat. Music falls in silence. No oxygen to translate. Gaseous balls glint and glow. Their steps, Morse code. Dots and dashes recorded and interpreted. Operators looking to cards and the sky. Fate scrawled in black and white.

March 15, 2016 Blueprint Magazine No Comments

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