by Erica Gilley
The stars do not bind my fortune
To caution tape starlight strings of
Deliriously false prophetic dreams.
I’ll spit out your stardust destiny,
Molding my own crooked constellations
Made of gray, diamond-encrusted clay.
I have already thrown out your
Divine kismet decrees,
Hidden away your celestial doctrines
Of predestined damnation.
I’ll forge my fate with delicacy.
The flames of the astral planes
Engulf the coiled sacrificial blade,
Fusing the sacred blood and bones
Of God and The Moirai.
The astronomical maps led me nowhere,
Zodiac cats and chakras, dead ends
That I finger softly along an upstairs bookshelf,
Sucking in my musk of luck and mercury sweat.
***
Erica Ivy Gilley is an executive administrative assistant that has earned a BS in English and a BA in Dance from Radford University in 2022. Her first poem ‘Human Helminths’ was published in the 14th Issue of Sink Hollow Literary Magazine, and most recently her two poems ‘Wondering, Wandering’ and ‘Enigma of Rot’ were published in Rabble Review’s 5th Edition. Her interests include reading fantasy novels, playing video games, and practicing pilates.
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