feeling poetic..

Horoscopes Without Telescopes
Mark Bibbins
The Paris Review, Issue 188, Spring 2009

It could feel good to stare at numbers
all day, another job but I can’t name any;
still, on a scale of dismal to dazzling,

we should at least aim for a bit of all right—
just keep your examples to yourself
or we can’t remove them. If you wind

up with a window and sun I’ll get you
something that never dies; it’s part
of this conversation we’re conceiving—

no initials, only terminals, where nobody
looks until they need to. How many out-
sized ’50s-cartoon kisses popped up there,

not the ones the papers are buzzing about
and never on a dare. There was a dictionary
on my lap and a word you wanted but

it was too much. If we’re lucky we will
find shame and collaborations and even
more fruitful collaborations and lack

of discretion and dead lobsters strewn
across fields to make the crops grow.
One thing usually true about history,

it’s embarrassing. And by which I mean
I’ve written another letter to you in my sleep
about the time I almost managed to swim,

fully clothed, across the blacked-out bay. I want
it lush all around and so long as bigger trees
make me dizzy, I will find you but not today.