The stars chant in whispers
that wonder their way into moons
that orbit your mind with illusions
and lead you into pain.
Don’t worry about it.
This world was crooked
long before you crooked your arm
to hide that pair of aces.
What to do then?
Damned if I know.
I can’t go for a simple walk at night
without the whole zodiac chattering,
confessing the longings of planets
to return to their home in the sun,
and the great and terrible sins of Fate
that by daylight appear merely human.
Maybe become a human telescope
and shut up into eternity
whenever the music of the spheres
becomes too mad for words.