I HAVE LABOURED LIKE AN ASTROLOGER
I have laboured like an astrologer
for the doomed cosmology
of delusion after delusion
trying to make the stars fit
like jewels of insight
into the webbing
of spider-minded dreamcatchers
that just don’t get it.
First you seed the wind.
And then you bead the wind with apples.
And that’s when I gave up
trying to make starmaps
of the things I’ve seen.
What might have been
isn’t a guide
to what has come to pass.
I’ve stopped lighting white candles
at the black mass of the universe
thinking that might make a difference.
I’ve stopped looking into the lees
of an old love affair
I had with a telescope
like a star-crossed lightbulb
that had just burnt out
like a bad tooth
in the mispelt marquee of a bad movie.
There are no sad or happy endings.
All the pathetic lies come true
and the prophecies take off their masks
like a troupe of skulls at the end of the play
and bow like the good guesses they always were
It’s fun to go slumming in your youth
with bad actors posing for the truth
but eventually your solitude asks you
what you’re going to do for an encore
and the night takes on a whole new attitude
when you realize that Armageddon is you
with a chip on your shoulder
daring the light to knock it off
like loud music after midnight.
Now I can tell anyone’s fortune at a glance.
The future is history.
You haven’t got a chance.
The fool you are
has arrived in advance
of the fool you’re about to be.