POV

90 degrees is a hard angle

Astrologically

Demanding full attention

In philosophy we agree

To disagree

Poetically

We speak

Aesthetically

And square off

Authoritatively

Lines drawn

Lightly in the sand

Discreetly

Challenging

The war

I should have known

As my spirit plummeted

And my mood mourned

After that first year

Culminating with lucky

Bats' ammoniaed guano

Deposits thick as thugs

Or locusts of

disgruntled housewives

Weilding their lack

Of knowledge like

Dull swords rusted

From disuse

While daggers

Their tongues

Told razored lies

Weapons of spies

And cowards

We battled every inch

Of change

Until i lost

Myself

In the war

Magi

The magician made

Birds from dollar bills

His assistant wore a sari

Of secrets and silk

Knotted mysteriously

Tucked to bind securely

He spoke of Pisces

Commonbirths bred by

Beltane fires

And of Leos

More rare

Children of last hopes

Before winter's

Brewing despair

This magic man

Illusion drawn

From dreams

More real made memory

A singularity

Outside the realm

Of possibility

In a poorly lit life

Of scarcity

Da

Night skulls

One bareboned face

Locked in horror

Eschewing grace

Repeated across

Reams of

Childhood dreams

The death years later

Wished on you

You died and died

And died

Until morning

When i saw you

I knew

You had long given up

The ghost

Simply suffering

The body as

Convenient host

As you communed

Until monsooned

In the blood