I never save my
fortune cookie papers
for myself but rather
for the busboy
(who I’m certain doesn’t
save them because he
didn’t crack the cookie
so they don’t pertain
to him),
and of course I’m the
only one at the table who
enjoys the cookie because
they’re usually plain and
I guess I’m just that kind
of person.
But I guess I should maybe
focus on the papers,
save them just in case
I need to roll something or
something happens and then
I can say
“I knew it!”,
because as with all
prophecy, it’s alright
if it never happens- 
like the weatherman,
that doesn’t make you wrong,
you’re not a bad prophet.
Fake your death &
change your name.
Move to a faraway place
and start over by hitting
and holding the restart
button in the back of your
mind for three seconds or
however long it takes to
get clean and clear headed
and naked,
butt ass fucking naked
in front of God & everyone
else.

ii. (trixclibrarian)
Because my mom
and my grandma
and my great grandmother
and all the good working hard
ethics protestant guarantees
of protest-anti-ups 
were wrong when
they said the things you are
too lazy
to worry about beforehand
compose your tragedy.
Raising me 
to sift my imagination
to the task of
conjuring potential disaster
to ward it off 
the ward of life 
in sanity.
Since post-hoc professions
of premonitions are
never believed
I preemptively jinx 
bad leaves 
with loud prophecy
“I have a bad feeling…”
Then you’ll see,
it never happens.
Because otherwise everyone
would know of 
psychic me so
I’d be forced 
to runaway
right click and hit
rename
erase
my left-handed heart
so god & everyone
else 
can’t see
my superstitions
saving the world.