Gypsies gathered generalizations while hierarchies of clairvoyants with hysterical finality and Many pairs of hands hurled my horoscope or natal cartographic map into a big hole Or hemisphere they labeled the zenith of heaven but I called the nadir of existence. My soul was violated in predictable successions of two- minute intervals By indecipherable codes and hieroglyphs of supervisors who thought They trained people to be telepathic with gestures of mute signals or sign language. Anecdotes of repressed affection unlike the curvature of cords that bind My parents or French countryside couples are conveniently classified As a negative astral configuration between two planets, analagous to Venus squaring the ascendant or an afflicted seventh house of partnerships. The sounds of your voice like another aria emerging from corrupt crystal balls Are blistering winds that articulate a fortnight of frost buried beneath the roots Of a perpendicular of maples and pines, or my descendants under the shadow of a minor mountain. I view smeared notations from a distance on contracts completed upon a canvas of darkness And ask astrologers resembling antiquated flammable woodstoves to return their styrofoam Cups or my recycled life so that a second renaissance can surface from the sky's birth canal. My aura is categorized as pure abstraction with the countenance of withering junipers On the tiles of bathroom floors, these avenues are laced with statistics of sheer velocity as I Accelerate into a future without freedom while bound by colored parameters of the past.Birth sign: Sagittarius
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