It was tragedy
Of no use to anyone
At all

My father would go
To the jail and speak
alone with murderers

His was divination
Of the cards –
Insane or not insane

Those who saw faces
Terrible eyes
Blood omens

And those
Who
Did not

The fate of each
And every one
The same – to hang

Which ones
of them
By rope

 

 

For Miz Quickly’s Visual