My horoscope informs me that
today I’d better mind my words.
Potential shall be thin, not fat –
diminished in a pile of flat-
tened thirds.
‘Twill be a day to passively
put up with flies and minor hurts.
No drunken Bacchanalian spree,
no overweening venery.
No chasing skirts!
The images today include
a crossing pair of blunted swords
arranged like Christ upon the rood,
who seeks celestial quietude
from everlasting fiords.
Today’s a day for laying low –
for changing bulbs and mending cords,
for slackening the pace to slow.
In prison pines Camus’ Meursault,
while Hamlet paces creaky boards.
I’ll neither enter some new trade
nor venture into foreign ports
nor place my malice on parade.
I’ll not go seeking precious jade.
Instead, I’ll fill my bags with baser quartz.