Psychics make their living by what’s written in the stars,
going by what’s written in Venus or in Mars.
They crumble tea leaves in a cup and set the water steaming,
then pour it in the cup so they can set about their dreaming.
Their supernatural talents are directed at whomever
crosses their palms with silver to discover what they’d never
see through their own vision, and so they pay a stranger
to guide them as they search for love and try to avoid danger.
What some see as inscrutable, the psychic sees most clearly,
constructing pretty platitudes for which we pay most dearly.