from the full moon to the new moon in Sagittarius & Capricorn
The salesman used a barrage of charm to disguise his goal of extracting as much money as he could from her. She stood abruptly and announced she would return after lunch. “Wait!” He cried, “$100 off!” But she’d been advised beforehand: Don’t rush, read the fine print, and always be prepared to walk away.
It’s a quiet connection now. Some nights, flashbacks blare and cough, their clamant yawps muffled by a stuffed shift. The redress alters me into a reasonable block of ice; thaw will come, internal, with hope renewed.
The Ram
A spotlight glances across the land, like twinkling stars to passengers headed east; The beast, it flies and reasons o’er the Black Sea.
Ambassador Spectacular, hold on tight, don’t handle her; This chauffeur-alien won’t be fleeced.
Backward, in the nick of sky, in dark absence of moonlight; it scans the clusters searching for its kind.
“Das Zeichen des Bundes” from Genesis section of Augsburger Wunderzeichenbuch (ca. 1552)
Words like tangerine spray glint, peel back a summer day when sunlight filtered longer through the pied air, becoming rainbows.
But he never wants what he has, so he never gets what he wants; then you realize the circle disappears beyond the undying horizon.
I’m proud of us: Strong and conscientious, hard-working; Our love renewals, delight for life, through growth, detach suspicion as we do from feeling what is good about a friend.
We truly are each other’s people Agreed to expect our loyal best; To cast away sorrow.
Thanks for the tango with the dark side. Lord Vader says hello and I lost a chunk of my brain. Good news is that fewer people can affect me to the point of losing my mind now. As long as I stay sober, there will be no bottles of pills to swallow or precipices to examine. I also have my boo who could never live with himself if he just snapped off a piece of my heart then salted the rest of it with a message that it’s because of what a terrible person I am; stood there shaking his head saying, “Sad. Really sad.” Jesus, Becky, you are a mean girl pill. I’m really sorry about all of the men that like me. Let’s just put this out there where it can get some air: She can’t keep her men.
There you go. Finally, someone said it. You knew they were all thinking it. I knew that you knew that I knew that you knew it, because of the criticisms you threw on your other friend you stayed passive-aggressively angry with for years. You know, the one you’ll try to reconnect with after giving me the boot. The one who, when that guy did to you what you just did to me, you ruminated over her not responding correctly and took it as an implication that she thinks you can’t keep men in your life. Maybe she did, probably not. It’s called a projection and it’s what you fear people are thinking. Projections can be wild within grief, especially when you’re trying to appear like everything is okay. Look social media, here’s a picture of my sandwich. Mmmm! See how normal I am? Ew, look at that frumpy sandwich hater over there. Do you know what I heard about them?
You’ll attempt to reconnect with that friend, empty your bladder on my privacy, and ruminate on her every fifth word until it becomes a black enchantment that mathematically equates a new language of dead code which opens a demon hole, summoning a groggy mucker who will feast on your soul the moment it realizes what a sloppy wizard you are with controlling the dark forces you summon. And you’ll be helpless to do anything about it because it is only banished by empathy. Ruin and denial are just dessert toppings to this thing. Mmmm!
Either way, nothing will change because it’s just a cathartic little pick-me-up when you casually slay someone who trusted you with her very life and did the work every time a paranoid thought came into her own head. I did trust you and love you and absolutely did not put you down. What you have is a self-esteem issue which is completely understandable because I’ve seen some people do some disappointing things to you. None of those people were me. Could have been twenty-five years ago, but hasn’t been with us. You do not get to break my brain. Humpty Dumpty has a difficult time in this brain. But did you know that I’ve actually helped people? I know that’s crazy and vain, but it’s actually not; that was the inner critic talking. You have to tell it to shush and maybe don’t emotionally rely on people who don’t understand that?
…
But we do have to emotionally rely on someone, don’t we? Vulnerability. We know that children of emotional neglect can’t really see their own needs but do become astute observers of other people’s needs; they think there’s something wrong with them, toggle anger and anxiety, battle self-esteem, and are highly capable; but it’s a real struggle to emotionally validate ourselves because we didn’t learn it while developing. Oh boy, what a know-it-all—shush!
I’ve had to cut people off who have a destabilizing effect on me in order to compose myself and grow. I don’t think I reached in to tear anyone into a companionable state of misery. Though I was rather cold to someone and hope to make it right. I was scared because THIS is me being upset. It sucks. I have so much work to do and am emotionally threadbare on the topic of insecure chimpanzees and bonobos swinging at me to try to reclaim some feeling of power. My morning writing is not for them and it’s not for you. Once I wrote a poem about you caring for the birds. That was nice. This is not.
I gotta go pick all the eggshells off my shoes. You may want to trace whoever told you everything’s about you when you were growing up. And also trace that arctic punisher. Set those children free.
My father’s birthday is in two days. I still can’t believe he’s gone and it has affected my motivation. Gatlinburg burned right after he passed. He took us there when we were kids and stayed there once a year when snowbirding to Titusville every winter in his retirement. That would have hurt him. Then Trump took office and the world burned a bit. It’s been civil chaos. Then this pandemic took isolation to a natural level. Right now I trying to understand when it’s safe for my family who caught Covid to return to their routines. Dad used to help me figure out logistics of things.
Harvard says, “In July 2021, the CDC recommended that anyone who is fully vaccinated and comes into contact with someone who has, or is suspected of having, COVID-19 should get tested three to five days after exposure. In addition, you should wear a mask in public indoor settings for 14 days or until you receive a negative test result. If you are vaccinated, you do not need to quarantine, but you should isolate if you develop symptoms or receive a positive test result. Previously, the CDC had said that someone who was fully vaccinated only needed to get tested after exposure if they were experiencing symptoms. The change follows new evidence regarding the Delta variant, which shows that people who are vaccinated and then get infected (breakthrough infections) can spread the virus to others, perhaps to the same extent as those who are unvaccinated. If you are not fully vaccinated, a 14-day quarantine remains the best way to avoid spreading the virus to others after you’ve been exposed to someone with COVID-19. According to CDC guidelines, you may discontinue quarantine after a minimum of 10 days if you do not have any symptoms, or after a minimum of seven days if you have a negative COVID test within 48 hours of when you plan to end quarantine.”
So, Dad, if my brother, nephew, brother-in-law, mother-in-law, and stepson got Covid and got sick, then when can we see them? We were all together ten days ago. One got sick the next day, one got sick three days later, and one got sick four days later. I’m vaccinated, boosted, and have had no symptoms of anything (except a slight pain in my ass). I tested negative before contact, three days after contact and seven days after contact. I went to two places just yesterday and wore a mask. Your son-in-law has also been testing negative, but he did drop off an oxygen sensor to—
You know what, I figured it out. I just needed to take a breath and talk to someone rational. I’m going to write you a poem for your birthday this year. I still have Whitman, Sandburg, and all the books you gave me. And I even read the wild ones you warned me against, because what else would I do with her madness? It is in me. I’ve pointed the tips on her leash outward at least.
Dad, you would not believe this: scientists corrected a gene mutation in a live animal. My head is spinning, but no one I know really finds this kind of thing interesting, except my husband who marvels with me but you know how fast the marvels go. I can’t commandeer his mind with my associations. I read a cool piece on biocentrism and it reminded me of a song I wrote not long after you died called Hurricane Irene. I do wish I’d studied math to the extent that you did, but the logic equivalents of words has always suited me better. I’m sorry about my silence. I’ve been working on a formula. I need to keep Mom in the room, too. Early mom. Really wish you two had found a way to smile about your time together. I understand now why you didn’t smile more at us when things fell apart. We’re all human.
I’m going to read some things out loud to you just in case you can hear me. Of course you can’t, but then again, what do we know? It can’t hurt. And talking to you makes me feel safe, loved, and valued. I love you.
Think Highly Its prickly thoughts drop pointed like tears, at times landing round and soft, pooling as a placid lake, lulling as summer rain Should all land in chance of familiar modal harmony, I’ll think highly of myself as often as possible—mantras, maxims, motivations taped; post-it notes on the window:
Lay out the facts. Do your work. Trust your intelligence.
Taped to my sun visor in my car: I love all of me, even my suffering and uncertainty.
On a lunch sack in Sharpie: Love yourself & hold steady;
if time, I’d written: Don’t get knocked off your love game.
I eek around corners to add to mirrors double reminders. But none could keep me where I needed to be or keep you from getting angry.
“Who do I think I am?” You asked.
Yell echoes its sonic spell flicks an avalanche; the delicate enchant- ments buried in snow Search parties dig for the bones of our crumpled body
On the long journey back to sense of self and confidence, slowly grows my clone—this one tattooed in reminders—to think highly of herself as often as possible.
Regrets on the eve I regret my angered broken heart, the warp on its record, and the times I tried to heal someone who’d understand.
I regret the rip of loneliness into my solitude, that a few good friends weren’t enough at times. I regret trying to resurrect my lost family in reminders of connections. I regret my mind wasn’t strong enough to keep you with me. I regret love’s affectation on my gaping train of thoughts, too scared to tell you what I cannot confide to keep outside of my mind.
There’s not a lot left to take into this new year now. I am content with who needs me, with the learning curve of each new sensation, in chats with the air and essence of minds before me. And even us before trust lost to fear.
You’re bringin’ on the heartache Takin’ all the best of me, oh can’t you see? – Def Leppard
Happy New Year! One of my uber-important best friends gave me the pink slip last night out of nowhere. I’d see her once or twice a week to practice yoga and we’d talk, smile, and hug goodbye. Her stupid Christmas gift is sitting on my desk. I’d gotten one-word answers to inviting her for dinner or checking in over the last few weeks. I could not tell if my friend was being distant because she needed space or if she needed company. She had a hard year, major unfairness, and a broken heart. I texted her: “Hey, I get a sense I shouldn’t text? You don’t respond. Please let me know if I upset you somehow. Not my intention.” She responded with this doozy of a text:
Anything that starts out with “First of all” and is this long can’t be good. Turned out she didn’t want to be my friend anymore, so decided she’d level with me in an arctic, nuclear text ending our friendship, offering no conflict resolution, and using her anger to hurt me as her latest target. I don’t knock her when we get together. My husband will tell you that I put the kabosh on anything negative being said about her and it’s only fucking praises that came out of my mouth. I was committed to keeping our friendship for the long haul. The best part of this text is where she tells not to respond out of respect. Respect! Blame and run—emotionally detach, shut me out, dump years of commitment, and justify it. This same thing was just done to her by a guy and it broke her heart. So she did it to me!
And let’s talk about the man who did that to her. My husband and I were never invited to hang out with him, though I found out much later that they hung with her other friends all the time! Weird. She didn’t like telling me about things that bothered her about him because I’d perceive his character based on how he treated her. She’d say things like he never introduced her to his friends then watched my face to later decide I’m judging her–a real setup. Last people she’d dated did some horrible psychotic things to her and I was there for her in the aftermath. But instead of exercising the self-respect that would keep one from shirking their friends with the next potential partner, I was left out of the fold for my unnerving clarity. Oh, and it was suggested I’d been blamed for her past alcohol use which started well before we met. He didn’t want us going out because she drinks with me? But I didn’t actually go out much and get up early, and I was the one who introduced her to exercise which is mostly how we spent time, so she really just sacrificed me to align with his sobriety. Her own personal scapegoat! I saw it clearly, shrugged, and forgave her. I forgave her each time she postured that her anger was in check by projecting on me about my anger. Her soundbite lately has been to say that my anger is scary—poor thing! Anything to avoid doing her own shadow work.
She desperately needs shadow work. There’s always something irking her. She’d eventually get mad at this uber-hyphen. Psychic wars at work, perceived slights left and right, cutting family members out of her life, policing her neighbors, becoming super cranky with passive-aggressive blaming and constructing conclusions based on anxiety and past damages; ruminating on whoever is left standing beside her instead of meditating to fight the inner critic who just wants to fight. This is her pattern. It was only a matter of time for me. No doubt she’s connecting with that old friend she crapped on in spades, now that her complaints in said text sound a lot like what she cranked on about her old friend. She has to be targeting someone to get out of facing herself and the rubs on her mirror. This text was such an awful projection that I couldn’t be sad. My response sucked:
And it got worse. The whole thing sent me into a tailspin, probably the intended effect. Why else blindside and discard me like a bad habit on New Year’s Eve? I know she started seeing a therapist because we always talked at length and I’d encouraged therapy and therapeutic writing. It was such a load of bullshit and I’ve already been through this since Covid started. She’s not the first person to lash out at me over their own insecurity. And she threw that loss of friendship in my face to hurt me. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have told her about it.
Do my female friends know that I don’t have any female friends? Anyone know why someone would accuse a girl of having no female friends? Is she saying that I need male attention or that she’s mad that she doesn’t have male attention? Very confusing. I also think she should be straight with her new therapist instead of putting her stuff on me and not the guy who cut her off and publicly said terrible things. She invited me to Thanksgiving last month, but I had an in-law gathering that ran late. I did consider us family, but I don’t need the kind of family that casually betrays you with a note to return her keys. The “woes” about me she mentions was about my family getting stranded out-of-town after a fire-related engine failure. I had to stay home to help figure out what to do as they were hours away in a town that had no open rental or mechanic shops. With a cracked engine block, we haven’t had a car in about a month. There was no offer for a ride. Just a scolding about my whining over telling her my woes for apologizing that I couldn’t make a gathering. I directly communicated that we’ve been overwhelmed with holidays and heaps of stuff and half the family getting Covid. Did she give a honk about any of this? No. Built a case against me. Why couldn’t I read her pain…I worked on healing her muscle issues for years. I started our exercise habits and got her into history walks, nature hikes and this whole time she thought I wanted her to feel bad about herself? I am not amused. This projector is like a Hammer horror film stretched to the wrong ratio. Hyphen hyphen hyphen. I wish I had a farm I could dance around while putting on airs; suck on a hayseed and ignore anything that isn’t practical or godly. She’s leaving anyway, so this was all probably just a convenient excuse to burn it all down with a bonus drama and victim sympathy. I actually understand burning it all down. Wait–was that condescending to say I understand? Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry. Sorry sorry.
I can’t feel guilty over perceived slights after putting years of consistent time and energy into caring about my core relationships. Truth is, this resentment and relational aggression has been holding me back. I asked my friends not to reach out to make sense of it because an attempt there will probably be made to put tension on our relationships. I’ve seen this before. I’m strong, hard-working and unafraid to be proud of myself or my friends. It’s clear a number was done on her head as a child over thinking too highly of herself and doing anything expressive. She likes to call artists interested in many things narcissists! Perhaps she was kept small and maybe that’s why she’d go silent when I discussed things that mattered to me like my music or writing or engineering. How pretentious! I used to cover up the best parts about myself, so she’d feel comfortable. I finally started writing in prompt groups which she ignored. She’s not the first and I’ve moved on to supportive artists—not going to stop. I work hard on my stuff and have outgrown people who are uncomfortable with my growth or frame my rich inner world as selfish, just because theirs is detached with emotions unexpressed, jumbled, and un-communicated. And now, evaded for a grip on control! Poor victim not gonna take no shit!
Never feeling good enough had nothing to do with me, but she put her suspicions on a safe person who would have been loyal to her forever. Too bad, she absolutely deserves love as much as I do. But I’ll never give my power to her again. This heart is closed for business.
Here is a secret: Eat every criticism. Bite into the outer layers with your bared teeth, feast on its soft vulnerable insides. If the center is hard then suck it awhile. Let unwanted pith dissolve away in your strong acid. It’ll all soon leave your body. Thank the ironic gods for giving challenging nourishment. And go about your work. Comments will keep til you’re hungry.
gravity mantle Smoke & mirrors collect us as royal subjects. In imbalance of power, lateral thinkers bow in gravity
It is not weight, does not dismantle It attracts— defines compromise, value in effort— Willing past the win of resistance
Yet the planets seem lighter than this phone.
steeple
Imagination questions without fear, for no one is listening with an ear to control: to scold as parent or toddler, to ostracize as jailers of faith, or primitive posturing for rank; to be revered rather than injured, to be obeyed rather than swayed.
In our steeple of curiosity, tolerance for ourselves and tolerance for others gains accordance.
constellations starved
She grew up playing in the woods, orienting by sun, trees, water, constellations; but was lost here, starved for organic connection. Many had no use for nature but to consume, & nature had no use for them. They’d gladly choose a virtual life if she could only perfect the forebrain.
strings floated
She sent vibrational strings of thought looping out Tethered balloon animals floated, reshaped, and popped. One transformed into a dove and flew away on a silvery gleam.
She let it go.
paused guide
Trauma paused us. We go back, reenact where stuck. Neural arms, flailing to connect, reflect near easy lovers: fear, unfairness, primitive defenses. Our scarry attempts to block off, protect Disconnect like cell death.
A plan will guide us, laurel us through genesis.
enemy risk
The enemy-risk effect of the virus was isolation and inactivity. Productivity and trade slowed as the needs of survival shifted. But to Hunter, they were the real enemy and the prey. Meanwhile, all the predative profiteers laughed—a nervous laugh.
from the full moon in Scorpio to the new moon in Sagittarius
Jake choked off his last shred of objectivity with piercing confidence and rode off into some kind of loner sunset, with only the curtains to hold his hand. Our shared wonder dismissed as magical thinking, wheeled away for correction, argued away as naive—just to argue.
stuck Kill or be killed, child. 180 shots per intended minute. Unregistered plastic bag. Probable conclusion without a scratch. Presumed protection with intent to mutilate. Murdered property. Insurrection. Hip-hop cowboy, good gang, posse. Annie, Get Your Gun and a permit. Marissa, the wall has rights. Stand your ground unless stuck interpreting the lunatic interpreting the reason interpreting the law
The wandering albatross bow, widen their wings and scream at the sky; they circle, preen and snap at their spouse in a mating dance for life.
Three million miles of soaring the skies, ever to return to the island of their love and birth.
Vulnerable, the reliant pilot hides in a pride of clouds/ seen, the sun comes out/ the complex speaks to the complex/ lowers a bridge open to valuation, closed to faulted criticism/ subject and object scatter, hide in the mirroring sky/ light faces the page, not the eyes
Thanks giving: Let the worry fall away from your clear eyes, For the world turns and we are in it; Should joy escape your mind, allow release to recommit compliments of reprieve from lifelessness.
I am your cherisher thankful for each delicate moment.
Wake and tell us what’s good, love, as the daylight reaches your mind. Promise to snuggle in deeper, cross the heart on your chest and hope to die. Code your secrets in my journal where I can read between the lines.
“I had conversations, but the upper hand of the masher, phlegm, and baffled stranger would not salute. And the agro. Everything I said was ammo. So I gave him ammo. All of it.”
Cere opened the lid to find furry teal blotches moldering the tops of the apricots.
“Worry eats at your thoughts. I needed to be done with it.”
“Recognize crisis mode. Deflection is a way to cope, but it’s pretext. We eventually have to move past it to understand the dissatisfaction that leads to a major life change.”
“Huh. I’ll think about that,” Greg said. “You’re not mad?”
“I’m working on a new perspective,” she said, taping up the last box. The movers would be arriving any time now. “Ultimately, I’m on your side and hope we get to share a better future. Call me after you’ve answered your own call.”
You are shiny, like teeth bared through organic murmuration.
Is it the love shown or the love deserved that makes us worthy?
Two lorn brood recuperate in innate pattern, flockwise; their calls imitate a wildish belonging.
If I were a ribbon, I’d curl around your finger to remind you that I am always there. In spills of ink, siftings of sand, traces, and twisted strands of hair Snug between the wanton hand of death steepling in prayer.
If I were your ribbon.
oracle
She placed her hand on the young king’s chest and closed her eyes: He floated in a river of blood, tethered to a casketful filled with paper money. Fire cremated the land into black ghosts pillowing the lusty blaze. Through the roar, he heard his name as a boy dipped a toe in from the shore.
The oracle opened her eyes and locked gaze with the young king. “You have enough for now. Do not invade. Take a vacation with your son.”
In returning warmth that refuses to leave the season, mistle breaks, disturbs a winter silence. Leave your contortions where misery can find its mirthless tune. I’m here in life’s harmoniacal quietus, a rival of the snow, parched as the ground, threshing its mortal boon.
It was such a turn-on to have my subconscious hacked, being alluded to often but never directly addressed. You’d weave me in your fictive formula of taking bits from various people, flipping the POV like an atomized burger chef—or perhaps it was remiss unconsciousness steering—then I’d accuse you of witchcraft and here we are. I’m sorry about the knock at your door.
Knock knock knock!
“We know you’re in there! Come out with your pants up!”
But Jake, let’s call him Jake, had never done anything before with his pants up so that request fell on deaf ears, I guess. Jake did manage to get his pirate shirt on and one boot. He bounced and skirted across the floor on a single leg like a pogo stick while trying to put on the other boot. But he had that pogo shoe on backwards, you see—the wrong foot in the wrong shoe—, so with every hop on his left foot, he veered right. Until he bumped right into the windowsill amidst all of the confusion. The single fragile boot fell to the floor as Jake clawed desperately at the window frame. His hip had hit the sill, his weight thrown toward the open pane. She wanted to call out to him but that would suggest she’d been there.
Jake was a self-narrating fool, you see, so she couldn’t admit there was anything there or that would make her the objectified extra. She deliberated over whether this was fair. He hadn’t done anything but try to slip a bit of love to her. It’s just that the ending was clear. He’d ride off into a cardboard sunset, go be a hero somewhere new for a spell. Except he wasn’t a hero, was he? She’d have to write her own history. And while carefully deliberating, poor Jake had only the curtains to hold his hand. Out the window he fell with a final salute. Goodbye Jake, we’re proud of you. I just hope that everyone knew you were set on changing your ways.
