TAROT BY DANTE X (While reading Kabbala Denudata:
The Hanged Man
The Sun
A twisted, curled tongue (of limestone bacon; or a long tendril of saffron flared into the eel of its aromatic shape). Meat, or flowers, or worst of all stone to be so deeply mistaken for. Disturbed. A bruise on the centering carnelian. Unpardonable art that’s seen us. It is a red banner curled along the black flagpole in the hands of the naked child, who sits wide to keep the back of a grey pony. Her arms and legs a star spread out in potential: who sees this sees a man in a fylfot cross, a clarity, concealing edge of depth. ARIK ANPIN or Macroprosopus, the Vast Countenance: partly concealed (negative existence) and partly manifest, “in Him is all right side.” So we go down or up against ourselves coming true. The sun tells me so when she looks at me over her broad nose– I am a naked girl. I don’t wish to be anything else. The Sun, hidden, is the right side of this countenance; The Hanged Man is a corpse stuck in a position of power. Not an image; an image never waits to mean. Not a vampire. Put your hand on The Hanged Man’s shoulder and feel the sunlight coming over the stone walls, through the sunflowers, the warm wind in its hands that move the child’s banner.
TAROT BY DANTE XI (While reading Kabbala Denudata:
Her hand
on the lion’s head
resting his head
on the other hand
his clubby hind-feet
we all carry with us
stumbling forward
to the given position
after dark rabbits thud
down the giant’s hall
fearless (possessed)
unharmed (therefore)
the giant’s taste
their own magnetism
a trail of ash (ablaze)
through the shuffled trees.
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