Gibbous Tarot

From my wooden stick
of a dark poetic quiver
from a hearing loss
dripping on my compose

somethings are tattoos
some are mascara
then there are teardrops
from the gibbous tarot

and the sleeping moon
veiled in the cat cradle
of a chatoyant pale
with a shadow of the virgin flame

chillin' with the children
in the cold unlit box  
where frost grows
from the gibbous tarot