SCORPIO NEW MOON: THE PUNGENT HEART
reminiscent slope, fantasy future me
the jellied skin
from the depths of pie purple molted
right off the fruit!, in the unseeable oven what
spade cannot pierce, nor dig in succession
the heart takes on swollen
water
you were never here
yes, I have one experience and line it up with the one just past; yes, I even pin it to the wall, watch it hold up or not to the event to follow; yes, yes I do this all and hope that my Giant's gaze holds me still; I imagine looking up into his eyes would set me straight but dead, son of suns, she said
the pungent heart
The scorpio new moon today is all the rage. We throw our heads down down the well and into the depths of animalic musk. Like slabs of flesh stacked to life; there's nothing more precious dressed in tiny socks.
I cannot see the ways in which you understand me; I reach for an apparatus of mutual distillation (Coppock) in the 2nd decan of scorpio where this new moon resides and find my hand around the neck of a goose. All sexual organ and haunt. Does it burn through saturn's spirals of skin? Does mars at last, in his superior square, win out over saturn? Plump with death skin unmakes itself. And yet mars holds rhythm— pain makes the rhythm, makes the rhythm, makes the rhythm—
There are nine diamonds in the rough; 8 spades to dig them up. In consequence, a single diamond to accompany us at the end of pleasure. Imbed the jewel, swap an eye for diamond, say it was a mining accident; it need not matter. Uranus crushes the jaw bone to sing and to think… I hesitated
xoxo,
sarah