Once upon a time you saw a rabbit and knew it was an omen. Your luck has always been nebulous and hard to catch. You look for signs in the rocks, fragments of bone in the shape of something violent, but old. Where are the fairy lights that signal egress? You are forever lost in this wood, looking for things determined to stay hidden, at least from you. You started out as a girl, then a duckling, a doe. Whatever you become it will have spindly legs and seem vulnerable. You have never been a fox or anything else carnivorous. This might be fate or choice or simply your nature but there is no way to be sure. You may visit a witch looking for answers but you will only leave with additional maladies- lesions and fevers, a rash in the shape of a crescent moon. Leave your curses where they lie, or better yet, accept that you are something almost-dangerous in that you are becoming bestial.
poetry and careerism revisited
8 hours ago