The First Quarter

Sometimes life just takes us places,
for a fated rendezvous of faces

We talked and laughed through each infinite hour,
we admitted which planets we meant to devour.

We smoked hashish, sprinkled with shots,
as we told all our stories, then connected the dots

First, Joan of Arc rode across the bayou,
sovereignty replied with mercy beaucoup.

She ached and scaled, impaled her way
to the peace that claims the will of the day.

She lost planet Tiamat, but won the North Star,
She’ll show you, if asked, to see her dove scar.

Wearing her gown, her white wedding dress,
she married the sun in the moonish egress.

the Last and First Angel was a waitress in Memphis,
poured coffee that blessed the whole town’s consensus.

She was a maid in Paris, and a driver in Prague,
she saved so many souls from the incoming fog.

a vet tech in Athens, and a soldier in Spain,
she’s the magical spark in the earthly mundane.

The impotent Whore, she is men’s great savior
with each compassionate sexual favor.

No prostitute, for her agency’s wild,
(she lost her Father when just a small child.)

so focused on men, but spare your cant pity,
for she is the apple that ripens each city.

For earthly indulgence, she’s no mere trifle,
magnetic in aura, no snuffer can stifle.

She outdoes herself, with her sleeveless big heart,
stealing each scene, her inherited art.

Unresistant debater, compelled deeply to stir,
She’s the animal lover that always wears fur.

Then the lush Virgin, invading men’s dreams
even Mary knows it isn’t quite what it seems.

She makes love to the world in ways you can’t see
An inhibited whisper of hushed ecstasy.

for few things more apt, than ironically ceasing,
to be more than you’re not, so perceived, it’s increasing.

She seems nominal as she courts her red wine
but one can’t be holy 100% of the time.

Athena, well, she’s a still titan of war
but weaving her wisdom is what she’s called for

She whispers to planets when gravity holds,
she sees orbits undone as battle unfolds.

moons can be stolen, and comets can scream,
and dramatic black holes can be a little extreme.

Quarks are her pavement, she’s got more than one point,
gazing stars in the distance, smoking her joint.

So many Monsters are Bangored in Maine
the gerontocracy there is driven insane.

Just ask Mr.King, for they’ve always returned
He records them, just look at the money he earned.

The Succubus first, though she likes to travel
Since roads were first built with sharp Meng-p’o gravel

I know her well, she’s really quite nice,
I admit, I’ve gotten confused for her twice.

We met up out West, in Seattle, then Boulder.
to me, she looks not one second older.

She’s a Scorpio, with a Scorpio rising,
her Plutonian Moon is so appetizing.

In her 8^th house, her transits conspire,
she is deathly transformative cosmic desire.

She’s jealous by nature, but now that I’m aged,
I’m no competition to make her enraged.

Freud had an 8^th house obsession as well,
his psychology is based on her Succubus spell.

Medusa’s from Bangor, she laughed at her potion,
that keeps her snakes calm from their dancing devotion.

She lamented, side eyed, getting stoned’s still illegal,
high-boned and humored, she’s surprisingly regal.

She is dressed in a suit and 4” black heels.
and she prosecutes demons without much appeals.

You don’t notice her lisp, her sensuous slakes,
and her argyle sweater reminds me of snakes.

Then me, the Phoenix with fiery wings,
I keep setting fire to all my best things.

I’m new to this planet, and the oxygen’s high,
I keep on combusting before I reach sky.

I’m clumsy, but learning, though I’ve got no teacher,
but for Phoenix, resilience is their best famous feature.

Reborn, then again, it echoes through ash,
but my fingers of fire burn through all my cash.

the pilot light blazes, my work is my spark,
for there is no sleeping when there never is dark.

for the immortals, hard work never ends,
just hope each loving creation transcends.

it’s reverence I seek, and I have no complaints
for I signed the apprenticeship contract for saints.

(It’s not so romantic, really all it can do
is magnify your greatest faults times a few.)

It’s my seat at this table, it’s my well-earned stride
it cremates my failures, and then fuels my pride.

It was us, together, waiting on Zeus,
for we don’t leave out Gods when dark is let loose.