They know how the movie is supposed to end.
Even if the writer changed the script,
the studio executives pressured the director,
and the polls indicated a need for change,
abandoned theaters, projecting to ghosts,
exhibit the platonic film.
They use the cards to give the querent
somewhere to rest her gaze:
an excuse for too much knowledge,
shelter from her pain.
Some oracles predict the paths of quarks
and charms, the loves of strange attractors,
the patterns of chaos. The particles and forces
weaving string theories and bending light to fit
a closed accordion universe
pay heed to oracles’ whispered words
but do in the end as they please.
We are not Medusas freezing with a look.
We freeze with words, or free with them.
Vampire tarot decks have two cards:
No children were harmed in the making of this oracle.
Droplets of ink spilled on a page
seep through the story to the very end
or the very beginning.
The first is fate.
The second, oracle.
We are wrong just often enough
that no one heeds us fully.
And right so often
we cannot be dismissed.
In the end, all we can say is: Be.