Pisces season/dream

Having been shown –

Alone on a train platform and dressed in a slate blue coat and matching hat, but my hair is bright blonde, and it’s the 40s, and another reality. 

Trains speed through and do not slow. Loud, and windy. Bone shaking. 

He walks up, kisses me and leaves. 

Then he walks up. Kisses me. Leaves. 

Factual departures, spent limerence.

Two men approach me from either side. I leave, walk forward onto a train.

Seated next to the door, it’s clean. Late morning, sparsely occupied. Out the window is pristine, clear blue, verdant grass and mountains, just tall enough for snow caps.

Nobody who knows me is alive, and I know no one any longer.  

Once arrived, in a white cotton crepe short-sleeved dress with small red embroidered flowers at the breast and pockets, red shoes, carrying a picnic basket over a footpath crossing above a creek.

On the other side, I spread a blanket on damp grass, facing the mountains.

An unknown man with broad shoulders shows up in shirtsleeves and a loose tie, reclining on the blanket. I rest my head on his shoulder, stare at the sky. The feeling is forlorn, fathomless isolation.

At night I walk down a wet cobbled street into an old village restaurant with low light, heavy wood. I remove short white gloves and rest them on my bag. It’s lively; conversations, restaurant sounds. I’m seated on a banquette, across from me is an empty chair. Bereaved, bereft. A bowl is set in front of me. 

At a hotel with light coral walls, I sit on the single bed, remove my stockings. A desolation, and terminal void. Turning in, under the covers, under the window, under a moon.

In the morning seated on the bedside, a heavy gun. I shoot myself through the right temple. 


Adam Driver said he’s got a guy

On round rocks dressed by shallow water, a loose tux like a break from an awards show

I asked why, waving at everything in the night
He said his ascendant is conjunct my moon
jupiter on my sun
Made a gesture like being fed up, but from another country

I said – But he should be
He said – I’ve got it
I said – It needs to be
He said – I got it

I said why is this an ocean
Of round rocks and little water

He said the drop off is ahead
And danced like Farmer Hoggett healing the hero


Setting out at night to traverse an expansive natural area, an owl lands on my right shoulder. I fret its injury, its face under its wing. My brother holds it in place but inspection says it’s likely fine.

Leaving, careful of the owl, its feathers on my face, the dry red earth graphing up the night skies. I worry for its wellness, worry about its tamelessness, wonder at its affinity for me. Then the feathers turn to fur, it changes then and is a sea otter.

A small, lit cabin is on the right nearby. I stop for water and rest, check the animal. An older couple welcomes us in. The break is just minutes. I walk us back out, navigate perpetuating terrain. None of it easy; the balance, my shoulder, the animal’s need. We reach the other end whole, and familiar.