Thursday, May 26, 2016

I'm still learning.

A motherfucker has to touch my chart ruler.
That's the sweet spot.
Mercury at fourteen degrees Pisces in the seventh.
Tightest aspect? Saturn at thirteen degrees Gemini.
If a man is oblivious to this,
refuses to touch this with a pole ten feet
or longer,
there really is
no point to us.
This is not a poem.
I'm tired of pointing this out.
This is another Texan Aquarian
unicorn diary entry.
I'm retired.
My brain is a soggy pretzel
falling to pieces in much too sugary marinara.
But Mercury. Yes. Pisces. Yes.
Neptune? Seven degrees Sagittarius in the fourth.
I don't believe in reincarnation.
I don't believe in soul mates.
But I'm still dreaming of the whitest xmas.
Him The Hymn, me the shattered stained glass,
cozy and holy before a roaring fire
in our gingerbread cottage
everything not only working
but SINGING because he thrums my chords
and I light up his limbic xmas tree.
I join those sites that think in terms
of penis, vagina, coffee, wine.
I delete my account after a few stale hours.
M A G I C
is non-negotiable.
Because I was sixteen years old
riding around in the rain
in Midland, Texas
with my Gemini sun Aquarius moon mom
and on a whim she stopped at a used bookstore
and I found Sun Signs by Linda Goodman
("I wish they were peanuts.")
and I had Rhett & Scarlett on my wall
and fairy tales on my shelves
and snowflakes in my little glacial
Venus in Aquarius heart
and I knew it would take much more
than a Beatles song
and much less than Moonlight Sonata
on busted junkyard radio
but someday he
would occur.
I'm still tap dancing in my stolen red shoes.
Something GOOD is gonna
HAPPEN.

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