Horoscope

"Horoscope"

We fall for it every day.
We skip the headlines, the
news of the world as it
is this moment, to see
our futures, as determined
by the cold and remote stars.

Wars in far off lands,
plagues and famines
in deserts we can’t find
on the map, interest us not.
The only news we seek
is the news of our own day.

Yes, an earthquake in a
distant land killed thousands,
but look! Today “I have the chance
to make a good first impression
with someone who will
impact my future!”

My government is a pretty
apple, rotten to its core,
but see! Today “Is a really
good day to get together
for an after work drink
with that new co-worker.”

We seek lies about the future
to avoid the truths we know
today. We cling to the sugary
thread called hope even as it
dissolves in the water
in which we are drowning.

Ignore the newsprint, the
charlatans who claim to
know the mind of heaven,
and look to the horoscope
in your heart, make your own
future, and listen to yourself.

Poem

We understand the moths beating against the windows,
throwing their minuscule bodies against barriers
both invisible and impenetrable.

It’s a special curse, devilishly clever,
to be a witness to the feast, but not a guest,
standing at a window, long shadows behind  us.

This poem is for us, the unpublished poets,
stuffing poems in our back pockets, publishing blogs
which float on the Internet like lonely asteroids.

Don t be discouraged.  Our scientists and priests
tell us nothing is lost once created. Our ideas,
and words, and images will join the universe.

So know, you quiet poets, those who write on bills
and receipts, on post-it’s and hotel stationary,
your work is not in vain. You will not go unheard.

The stars and space will absorb you, add you,
as salt alters meat, so shall you change galaxies.
Words unread still have power.  You can change nebulas.

So write on, you napkin scribblers, you secret poets,
you write for a higher audience, maybe angels,
whose wings dry your ink even as you write.