horoscope poem, pt. 2

leo
the universe isn't listening to you, so why
keep roaring about it? the streets outside your bedroom
fill with too much traffic for the sky to hear about you
and your infinite stubbed toes,  lover with halitosis,
aging parents, favorite shirts grayed in the wash. if you
 still want the world to listen to you, why don't you try
 opening your own pickle jars for once.

virgo
there is a steep fall coming for you. avoid
the panes of windows, the cracks between blinds.
this fall will find you: you know this, awake
sweaty some nights from the spill and sharp of it.
tie your shoes carefully, but don't fright.
the ground doesn't hurt you as much as it ought.

libra
toss out the nostalgia with the garbage, libra, is the past really as
clean as you remember it? your mother still keeps boxes
of your baby teeth. you feel trapped-- the secret
lies in your own adult molars, those silver cavity plugs.
your twin daughters pierce their navels this week. look
every gift horse in the mouth and you may find the voice
you've been searching for.


scorpio
that nickel scent you've been smelling but can't place?
it's no jar of quarters, no grandmother's perfume. potpourri
and pumpkin pie won't cover it. scorpion, your barbed tail
and easy-edged words mean you never look for pain in your own
scraped knees. find the source of the bleeding and apply pressure.
tourniquets will come in unexpected places-- the neighbor girl
with her nervous smile and soft cheeks.