Sagittarius (feminine)

by Adrian Shirk

Oh, sleeper—

no man mislikes it more than me.


You’ll want shadowlplay and heresy,

darkly featured, weekly prophets


switched and merging,

each buried with new hope.


Late riser on the top floor;

it’s fixing to rain tonight but


come long and short, it’s far

enough at best—


Our own blood, our jaguar love and

we, barbarians, infinite from mortal clay,


postpone. A patch cut from our Sunday pants,

a fist of dying guesses.