By Walking over pot-holes
passing decorated pot shops
she strolls the streets of a dying town
that’s booming
with its gentrified yes men
dribbling geniuses of the market’s choice
and yet
“with Neptune in Pisces
you never know what is real”
she says by text
to her sometime lover
the lottery winner
tinder for the fire
of life’s old game
desire
And so
because she’s clean
she conjures lightness
starts to float
and flies above the worries of the street below
her feathers glow resplendent
as she finds her hiding spaces
settling on a rooftop view
while hearing all the pigeons’ news
she peers the ant sized workers eating atoms
disguised as food
And yet
she once was told by some
that flying means you’re out of touch
evading hard reality
where pain and coarse haired misery
are waiting
down below
And so this feathered serpent dives with grace
descending on the others ambling by
an asteroid of water and fire
this snake makes haste
to find her Earth
she penetrates her queen
and then by being consumed
she’s birthed
anew
