Nothing was put into perspective during the $2 show at the planetarium. The universe still swallows me I am still a cipher and I still believe I’m cursed with an Aquarius sun and Virgo moon and my Mercury in Pisces explains the whole goddamn thing, the nubby fabric of my lackluster life. The show was more didactic than transcendent, a balding scientist with a droll delivery explaining to tiny brain me that it would take aliens too long to reach our planet and why would they bother and astrology is one more myth to debunk and bury behind grandpappy’s barn and anyone who doubts we put a man on the moon is an idiot drooling in her Lucky Charms. I’ve sent e-mail I should not have sent burnt bridges that never should have been built eaten soggy Dairy Queen nachos and sent my son off to play with his imaginary siblings while I tap my fingers like this dance means something like it gets me somewhere like I’m not standing in one place dizzy inside the celestial zoom that does not calculate the mosquito buzz of my damaged neurons. My back aches and I want to sleep and dream of nothing. I want to be buried in snow. Things will start making sense inside that cold blank my frosty nothing death. There were dinosaurs there are things that live in the darkest part of the ocean despite the boiling heat there are wasps waiting for me in the laundry room there are cardboard boxes filled with toys and books and cheap winter clothes and receipts and plastic cards and plastic spoons and plastic forks and nobody loves me everybody hates me but the birds have eaten all of the worms. Germany is further away than Pluto. California is closer than my bright pink vibrator. I live and breathe California even though I have never surfed or sold any books at Beyond Baroque or read my poems at Bird and Beckett. I’m a bag lady in training I carry several lifetimes around and suck at small talk and social pleasantries unless I am talking to myself. I save ketchup packets and birthday candles because you never fucking know. I’ve got a lot of pennies. I’ve got too many books. I paint I write I wonder when the world will be done with me, finally. What else is required? Do I have to show up? My back is aching. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want this dance. I don’t want these words. Fly away, birds, you will never be hawks or eagles or even buzzards. I have no power I have no voice I have no choice I have no salve no solution no sunny days with smiling friends who favor me with pet names and piggyback rides. I’ve done the bride thing the daughter thing the sister thing the mother thing the whore thing the Valentine returned to sender thing and I am not winging a goddamn thing I’m limping down the road with my eyes on the dirt. Red rover red rover I couldn’t break through so I’m here with you until the machine shuts down and God the bell rings me home. God I anticipate that clarion call. I’ve been an angel all along. I’ve done my time with the crickets and the dogs and the drunk cheerleaders. I’ve worn the freak flag to shreds and never asked for a threaded needle. There’s a hole for me a sanctuary a final rest a castle made of mud. I’m trudging toting my weary load of gladdest rags. There are ravaged hags happier than I will ever be. The jukebox plays all the wrong songs and what I want is not on the menu and there will be no more kisses no moony missing across puke splattered miles. The map is a stone inside my gut. I can show you how to get there. My sleeping son is the only beautiful thing the only valuable truth and I know I will lose him like I lose everything else. I don’t hold gold it slips through my fingers. This has all been my fault my shoddy production there is no one else to blame. I’m through with life but life is not through with me. My back aches and I don’t want to be sitting here doing this dance telling everything that has already been told. The eyes have seen my glory my gory my story in bold screaming black ALL CAPS. I’m the fool in the corner. Disregard.