Upon Pulling Two Cards: Wheel of Fortune and Ten of Cups, or How to Kill An Orange

This incantation, spell, reading is featured in the current issue (129) of Lumpen Magazine.

by V Preecemonty


There are no rhymes or reasons

Only tricks of foreplayed seasons

Through the spoke and space, a treason

And an Orange fleshy lesion.


As in time from long ago

The tarot’s ten, and very old

Is the wheel of fortune’s tow

Spiral’s axis solid gold


And while the Orange ogre tweets

Its tang and seedy pulpous bleats

The fates divine a coursing beat

To drum: A savior’s recipe!


Thereby in time a cauldron heats

The Piper Pan has skills and meats

Like treats like and cheats beat cheats

This, our homeopathies . . .


In secret places, place this list and mill to grist this list of “This”



This the coiling worms and curse

This the sleeping idiot’s verse

This the pending gimlet’s ice

This the Bannon throwing dice

This the vaporous January

This an imp-incendiary

This the slippery murder-ling

This the rapist’s high school ring

This the towers—god’s expenses

This the valid instincts fences

This the list of needs extracted

This the Rand re-read ex-laxed

This the virtue needled and nuked

This the puke of rogues and fugued

This the wall and tower bell

This the short sheet bed in hell

This the end of bumble bees

This the howling Blake on knees

This the pestered peon’s whine

This the mind in lengthy grind

This the west and east in waters

This the Age of Dildo’s Daughters

This the way to really shine!

This the year of Monkey’s mine!

This the death of trick and treat’s

This my nasty women’s beats

This the poison polish made

This the tiny hands to glaze

This a thousand miles of shade

This a Rude-e-giuli blade

This the one’s that’s sent a-packing

This the lighthouse cold and blackened

This the old man’s sea that’s seized

This the sticky jism’s breeze

This a clap of sudden thunder

This some bitter hinter hunter

This a mindful thought undone

This a ban on sleeves, what fun!

This the wilbureen of Moola

This the car’s son bending ova

This the Chapuzzzinkmnanuchin

This the health in human puking

This a Catch of 22 pimps

This the whores of Foxy simps

This the twittering twats of past

This the present future ablast

This a love so deep it’s gone

This the sound of what goes wrong

This a bib and baby’s song

This the courtship’s pheromone

This a tiny hand on tits

This a Poot in the Ritz

This the K Kock King and kids

This the uni-tardal skid

This a walk inside the fire

This and yet another flat tire

This a prophet-lifer for hire

This a gun! A Gun! ~ My Sire!

This a dong for my dings

This and all good very things

This that’s bought for a bling

This my finger for a king

This Oh heart, Oh heart congeals

This my forced butt fart appeals

This Walmart, I go for a meal

This the start of life on the wheel



And belly aching cures are blends

Curing the sorry’s tempered trends

For mouths and eyes to water to wells

For filling pails and frying entrails


Stir the Pot

Tasty Spittle

This My Stew

Of Fortune’s Riddle



Ten cups completed sneezes

Ten cups rotten answers

Ten cups encountered lips

Ten cups denoted anguishes

Ten cups accepted yawns

Ten cups portals closed

Ten cups remembered eyes

Ten cups empowered gimps

Ten cups idiot truths

Ten cups invalidates

Ten cups pointed dullards

Ten cups bitches gas lighting

Ten cups asses bent

Ten cups “fact’s matter”

Ten cups gods a’weeping

Ten cups enemas 4 you

Ten cups pussies in boots

Ten cups ingrates “thank you’s”

Ten cups oily maids mopping lakes

Ten cups dead men walking backwards

Ten cups crimes solved under ground

Ten cups women with ten knives

Ten cups teams of lovers

Ten cups hours counting

Ten cups herds of beavers

Ten cups left hands to hold

Ten cups right hands to mold

Ten cups excused naughties

Ten cups delivered bakers

Ten cups exposing saints

Ten cups cans of red paint

Ten cups red dogs and ducks

Ten cups black swans and gerbils

Ten cups events and endings



And I ground my contents to ash!

And I roll my paper weapon!

And the clouds make shapes of corn!

Dirt and fingers

Sparks of spirits lit

Personae to my right persuaded

Bison Elk and Snow!

My vision and the fork

My list of life

Cum through a sheet of linen


Curtains let out

And blanched in the sun

Fuzzy brows on female people

Brownish haze on male people

Unfinished hems


And I’m done and completed?

And is sense enough?

Are you assured?

Shamen came again.

My door is knocking busy

Pen sounds a thwop

And the signal to stir!


Whip well.

I am not done or undone?

I am not completed?

Answers are not yours.

The Orange must die.





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