consulting the cards

i don't want to know the truth.
give me the cryptic ending.
there will be angels as pizza delivery drivers.
i clip my toe nails into the toilet 
while on the phone with
my ex father. he says
he misses me & i think,
"yeah i bet you miss 
having someone to chew on."
i plant my ears 
beneath the sycamore.
the sycamore groans & tries
to dig them up. no one wants
to hear what i hear. a chain saw.
a choking rabbit. a glass
dropped on the kitchen floor.
there are still shards of glass
deep in the flesh of my feet.
why don't i make a fortune emergency?
i plug the phone into a sap scab.
vibrating sun. false teeth in the mail
& coming soon (thank god).
there are not enough drivers
to complete your ressurection.
instead, i lay here 
in the freshly mowed yard 
& i think about turkish delight.
how i've never had it & probably never will.
sugar on my fingers.
my father is on the way 
or so he says
& i laugh at him because
he doesn't know where
to be on the way to. 
i could tell you
the cards promise a lit match
& a feast of quail eggs. i could tell you
they are showing a squirrel funeral.
it's all more or less the same.
the future has a piece of sinew 
in its mouth. my father is
not here. i am free to a good home.