THE MATH: (Vesta + Sagittarius) OPPOSITE (Lilith Rx + Gemini) = Let us out


Lilith calls Vesta again…

"Vesta! I've been thinking
about this goal setting thing.
And I have one for you,
if you're willing to hear it."

"I'm not," Vesta says.

Don't you want to be
a professional writer, Vesta?"

"Worry about your own goals,
Lilith.  You're procrastinating.
Besides, I am a professional
writer.  I publish my work,
like, 3 times a day."

"Yeah, but, no one
ever picks you up."

"You have to submit your work,
to be picked up, Lilith.
And anyWay, everyone and their mom
can self-publish a book.  Besides,
I have been professionally 
published.  In 3rd grade
I wrote my first poem
on the chalkboard, in my bedroom
next to a picture of 2
little penguins, and 1 was
pissed he couldn't fly.
'Oh why can't I fly,
like the ones in the Sky?
Oh why?  Oh why?  Oh why?'"


"I don't think it's fair,
but the others don't care.
Oh why?  Oh why?  Oh why?"
Vesta continues, ignoring her.


"Shut up.  I won
an award for it."

"Yeah, but you cheated."

"I didn't cheat. I was charmed
into giving it a happy ending,
by my older sister."

"She wrote the last 2 verses."

"I know," Vesta goes cold.

"That's half the poem."

"I know, Lilith."

"And that's why everybody
loved it."

"I know Lilith, fuck, okay.
I know."

"And that's when my mate,
told me, we're just as great.
We are.  We are.  We are.
And that chant has taken me
so very far.  So far. So far.
So far," Lilith finishes
Vesta's poem, with relish.

"The people want the happy
endings.  She gave the people
what they want," Vesta postulates.

"Well I don't think it counts,
Vesta," Lilith digs. 

"Well fuck you, Lilith."

I'm just saying, professionalism
could be your 9 month goal."

"Focus on yourSelves, Lilitu."
Vesta says, as she hangs up.
She swivels in her chair, 
to recite something old
and true, to herSelves,
and the dark of the Library...

a book.  You should publish
your poems,' people say.

Why?  And how?  And who for?
And how much of mySelves
do I sell in the process?

In the past 9 months,
I have written Here, already hundreds,
because I am in pain.  Here it is,

already published, before your eyes.
But all the same, I could be done
with this modality, at any instant.

Creation has alWays been
about pain for me; instinctively
transmuting what can find no Other

Way to say.  Needing an outlet
and someone to connect with,
even if it is only the many

sides of mySelves.  I do not
get writers block, but I wonder,
will the poems someday stop

coming, when I'm done
blood-letting?  I pour out
words, for the ancestors

in my veins.
All the AFAB screaming:

For a moment, Vesta's words echo
and ring, before they are flattened
and absorbed, by the many
words, in many books,
on many shelves.

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