This is the best poem for the end of an era. And in particular, for a heavy astrology transit. I posted it when Neptune was changing from Aquarius to Pisces but it is magic for any Neptunian mood.
Regret nothing. Not the cruel novels you read
to the end just to find out who killed the cook.
Not the insipid movies that made you cry in the dark,
in spite of your intelligence, your sophistication.
Not the lover you left quivering in a hotel parking lot,
the one you beat to the punchline, the door, or the one
who left you in your red dress and shoes, the ones
that crimped your toes, don’t regret those.
Not the nights you called god names and cursed
your mother, sunk like a dog in the livingroom couch,
chewing your nails and crushed by loneliness.
You were meant to inhale those smoky nights
over a bottle of flat beer, to sweep stuck onion rings
across the dirty restaurant floor, to wear the frayed
coat with its loose buttons, its pockets full of struck matches.
You’ve walked those streets a thousand times and still
you end up here. Regret none of it, not one
of the wasted days you wanted to know nothing,
when the lights from the carnival rides
were the only stars you believed in, loving them
for their uselessness, not wanting to be saved.
You’ve traveled this far on the back of every mistake,
ridden in dark-eyed and morose but calm as a house
after the TV set has been pitched out the upstairs
window. Harmless as a broken ax. Emptied
of expectation. Relax. Don’t bother remembering
any of it. Let’s stop here, under the lit sign
on the corner, and watch all the people walk by.
Wow. I LOVE this. It’s so super-high-Neptune, don’t you think? With a blast of Jupiter. I love this woman.
Her Wiki says she is a Capricorn, born January 10, 1952. She’s having her 2nd Saturn Return and churning out stuff like this. She’s got Mars-Neptune conjunct in Libra.
And HOW Capricorn is this? She worked as a sanatorium cook, a gas station manager, a maid, and a donut holer before receiving a B.A. in English from Mills College in 1988.
Her Moon is in Gemini, always good for some word-witchery and she has Mercury in Sagittarius.
So does this poem make you think of Jupiter & the blessings that can be found from even a quick little dip in the gutter? Of otherworldly Neptunian weirding?
Or that now – with Neptune Void between sci-fi Aquarius and magical Pisces, the sign that it rules – is the perfect time to read a poem like this?
Read it through twice, feel its indigo tone and tell me it is not the best poem for the end of an era?
Image: Steven Meisel
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