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Clairvoyant

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  • Poems
  • Clairvoyant
A Bishop and a Stranger
October 29, 2015
A Soup Sipper
May 2, 2016

At her table, here is Claire
with her rare, clairvoyant stare.
Fortuneteller, ready-made,
shares her gifts when cash is paid:

She’ll chart your astrology,
add up numerology,
cast the I Ching – tarot too –
read the bumps you’ve got on you,
mix a potion, fix a charm
(one causes love, one causes harm),
gaze into a crystal sphere,
make predictions for next year,
read your tea leaves, speak in tongues,
contact dearly-loved lost ones.

In a trance that bugs her eyes
she’ll see past lives, prophesize,
have a vision, eat a sword,
spell things on a Ouija board,
interpret lines upon your palm,
recite some scripture or a psalm,
see your aura, hypnotize,
levitate before your eyes,
leave her body, shake your soul,
run barefoot through hot beds of coal.

Claire, the psychic; Claire, the sphinx,
senses what each client thinks.
But there’s one thing Claire can’t share.
The final question: Who is Claire?

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