The clouds portend a change in weather,
"fish-scaling," as it’s known, pink and blue
and far past the descent of the solstice
is this late-summer’s day, ripe
bounty of Virgo and two hours ago
he wrote me a script.
Two poles, by and by. An addition
to the diagnosis previous, or
has it always been this way?
I can hardly remember anything of my
life save the ghostly healed
flesh more sensitive don’t
grab me by my
arm my hand the window the nanny her
terror I’m choking and
I can’t even remember her
last name and did it happen or
Two poles, a diamond is my birthstone, and I
shine. He says it is
the second type. Small glimmers
but mostly deep
in the ore. Mine to mine.
Mostly I shine. Mostly I’m both.
Shall I marry or murder myself?