the poet's zodiac

 



is now available in all it's dark sparkly loveliness.


sagittarius

 

 

For every broken phonebooth, you trade a tooth in pocket. A rusted locket.  The back parking lot grown thick with weeds.  In the mornings, tread carefully.  The dead collect their objects with startling accuracy.  Recall their devotions as thunderstruck, as dumb luck.   Fuck with the lights in your kitchen, and still the witch moths flicker at the windows, eating their way through the screens.  Breathe carefully in the dark.  Pull at the roots in your cellar until nothing is left but stone, smooth as a coffin. Where you bury the black rabbits and their beginnings.  Their terrible skins.



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