My mind has been brambled in the forest beyond fuck since 1977 or 1981. I don't trust numbers. Mercury at fourteen Pisces squares Saturn at thirteen Gemini. Moon is in the mix at six Virgo. Neptune spoons the soup at seven Sagittarius. The metaphor is a familiar one and I feel so common and obtrusive referring to myself once again as the shivering waif in rags with nose pressed against cold candy shop window. Candy does not sympathize and all those sugared lights made of strawberry syrup and citric acid, so much caustic smirk. I'm a knock knock joke. Flat on my ass in North Texas mud. The blood is my currency. Two days ago I bought a lavender pony. Comb included. I'm Gluten Free at Ashley Madison. At OK Cupid they know me as Fat Grams. For the purpose of this program I'm Sprinkled Donut. You cannot wash me down with almond milk, green tea or bottom shelf whiskey. I lodge in your throat much like Laura Palmer. I trust men who don't consult therapists or tarot cards. Mars in Capricorn squares Pluto in Libra. It's hot in here. It's just me. It's ninja kitchen. My heart is God's chopping block and so suddenly I'm Franny without the perspicacious siblings and killer view. My son is safe at the sno cone stand so I pace the attic which is my palace and bother Greg with the details. Wasn't it enough that Greg was born and buried in Texas? Now he has to hear my battle cries. All caps. No punctuation. I scream my wounds my grammatical errors and I tell him.
No the piece of paper with my gringa blood all over it is no kind of key I'm still locked out I'm still the strangest cloud to ever shadow fried chicken picnic I'm still weird white bitch from the yellow side of the tracks but if I can't have Peru if I can't have Lisbon if I can't have HOT JOY and one true king and no pretenders and dream city pillow and purple fountain then let me die and wake up in goldest hum because I've earned that much but as long as I'm here there will be prayer without punctuation. No mas AMEN no mas SELAH no mas SO MOTE IT BE. Consider my life an open-ended prayer. My heart ain't chopping block at all it's sky cathedral it's transmission ZOOM it's me the queen of any room I enter because sun because Venus because Uranus because yes. It's the answer I'm helping myself to.
Free of charge.
No the piece of paper with my gringa blood all over it is no kind of key I'm still locked out I'm still the strangest cloud to ever shadow fried chicken picnic I'm still weird white bitch from the yellow side of the tracks but if I can't have Peru if I can't have Lisbon if I can't have HOT JOY and one true king and no pretenders and dream city pillow and purple fountain then let me die and wake up in goldest hum because I've earned that much but as long as I'm here there will be prayer without punctuation. No mas AMEN no mas SELAH no mas SO MOTE IT BE. Consider my life an open-ended prayer. My heart ain't chopping block at all it's sky cathedral it's transmission ZOOM it's me the queen of any room I enter because sun because Venus because Uranus because yes. It's the answer I'm helping myself to.
Free of charge.
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