I fixed the horoscops

(From Rob Brezsney’s “Free Will Astrology: for Oct 17-23” Page 110 of the Austin Chronicle)

Scorpio: Late summer apple tree. A branch. Later, this gravity. Fast the space of him, his omens would be comparable.

Sagittarius: Most birds don’t sing. Somewhere that isn’t this mottled tune, this creature deserves you: human, detached, above your own rough-and-tumble.

Capricorn: Let’s discus the thing you are about without possessing it. Play here.

Aquarius: Remain persistently insoluble. You have made a heart of questions. They replace the lock.


Ares: New York city is home to lost treasure: valuable bits fallen off broken, tweezers and a butter knife, rich pickings, sidewalk cracks and gutters. “The street is mine,” he says.


Gemini: The word at the climax. The catalyst that makes no real sorcery. An incantation authentic to possibility.

Cancer: Modern tradition: “I think I am almost nothing.” He said that is who we want, the heart of our omens.

Leo: You can’t give. You can sort, but that’s nothing. What you want: feel your generosity missing.

Virgo: That one of you will be the rest. Play on the trap. Get tangled up on the cold and unhelpful with their pain.

Libra: Author this realization: things left seed. A caretaker of your other things, you are within yourself. Take anything.