some horoscopes

some horoscopes
by Cerebella
portraits of inverted colors-
x-rays.     they          face each
one calls itself lazy/  the other is type a.
try to figure things out
with ourselves, apart  as
red eyes versus dialated  pupils
set wide apart across the latitude
of a   compass
nownow.    let's  take off our faces,
pure rubbish
dirty, so filled with
patchouli in a flooded
basement. stinky. mildew.
my artwork is being broken&
i'm   having   the worst   heart attack EVER
thinking about it.
any trace of
an atlas in our lives
never happened,   did it.   our pirate
ship dreams came closest.
(decades have passed since
exhibits here look less
like beauty, more
like scientific analysis,
hopefully nothing you'd
flip over. my silent audience
sleep for
20 years in a sump, with
dead things dodging a
experimenting with
brains with
ideas of  ohmygod,
(strictly cans &  a string),
suicide hotline
true   conscience awaits,
for she's my good girl.
she stole
my youth-  the only betrayal.
a  little   bit was left,
i fed it to the   worms
in the fruitbowls    apples-
puddle in my kitchen.
it was a sunday- a golden book
feature, pure
   gold at the outskirts.
1   nature,
an unframed still life portrait,
so suddenly.
2  gender, beyond
science is questionable.
3  amorality telling me
doesn't exist. i demand
him to be
my father's next wife.
override, enjoy   a ferris wheel.
delta damage
loses to
survival skills-
brutal independence
in a fully
intact hermit shell.
she   stays so
present for the collective
nothing is missing.
&  missing is everything,
but everything out there is
me, you, us, it, nous, vous
enchanting words boiling
in a
disembodied palm
afloat in
drunken birdbath.
one day, they will
be flicked
the sky
it will be so
to meet them

0 thoughts on “some horoscopes

  1. i was struck by the admission “try to figure things out
    with ourselves”… Finally an out-in-the-open confession from somebody–i think it’s the best reason to write–self-discovery with the inclusion of others. And then, likened to: “…apart as red eyes versus dialated pupils
    set wide apart across the latitude of a compass.” Poetic connections intrigue. I used to do the bilateral tapping/’what are you feeling?’ exercise in therapy a lot which somehow reawakened a person’s awareness that they feel, and then pursued with what are you feeling–all this to reconnect a person with themselves as if they had long lost touch with who they were…or perhaps never knew at all. A part of it was the retransfer of ‘trauma memories’ into peaceful ‘life experience’ memories monorailing from one side of the brain to the other. Long story short, much of the poetry here impresses me as a journey into the self, an exploration and knowing of who you are, and then the interestingly high-stress meshing with life in the world–a defining of self as seen from and interacting with, the slot machine of joy, a peasant uprising in the self, redefining, assertion, reconciliation, pick and choose, leading to the end result: this is as good as it gets.
    delta damage
    loses to
    survival skills-
    brutal independence
    in a fully
    intact hermit shell.”
    –mmm. painful. but beautiful in the recognition of truth.
    Life can be moped thru even on a mo-ped. Finding constant courage in the bottom of our cereal boxes is mind-boggling. But poetry as a search for clarity and as a vent for all the dissapointments that come with life is the purest expression, and i like the style here because it’s not for its own sake–i’m always in awe of the poet’s bristling integrity in her work. Device-wise, i appreciated the imposter of contradiction so eloquently written late in the poem. I also just love the word ‘sump’ for some reason. lol. Nice work. i look forward to a chap someday, maybe.

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