Here is my contribution. (Crossposted to my site blog.)
Pieces of Nine Oracles, Scattered (and Silent Ten)
Her voice gets soft when she drinks,
her mouth slack, the tension
flees her body.
The cards slice open her fingertips,
the edges stained rust red, and if she
looks at you blank faced, good news
lingers beneath her hands.
Woe if she smiles.
Blood and chicken feathers
stick to his skin and his footsteps
turn brown as he passes.
She sings and the wind blows,
the trees bend sideways, leaves
twisting dark to light.
She reads your fortune in the moon
as the clouds cross it.
If you knock over his piles of books,
rickety and raw, the loose pages spill
at your feet and in the creases
Five listens to all but whispers
only the fortune of not-man, not-woman
and the stars shine bright on Five’s
breasts and penis and tongue.
When the plant dies he buries it
beneath the empty sky
and the time it takes to disintegrate
tells all he needs to know.
The smell of gas will make you dizzy
but she only smiles and rattles the dice
and bones in her cup.
Say please and she will cast across the stones.
Silver pools in the curve of his hip,
the bend of his elbow,
the tip of his collar bone.
The salt scours his flesh
when the wave washes across him
and he leaves you the future in the sand.
She lights candles and forests
go up in flames. The smoke
twists along her arms and
she draws pictures,
her long fingers twisting.
When you go blind from it
and it lingers in your throat,
steals your breath,
she will leave you the present
and spin futures of you.
Ten reads the minds of the oracles
and through that knows the present,
the imperfect past, all the futures
impossible or not.
Ten is silent always.