Nothing To See Here

Aries: A cruise liner, half-capsized in a bay of mangroves.

Taurus: A theater with a broken roof. Sunlight shines on rows of empty seats.

Gemini: An empty paper mill. Collapsed floor collecting dust and lichens.

Cancer: A housing block. Creepers, blooming early autumn red, reach slow fingers into empty rooms.

Leo: A greenhouse, ceiling open. Curtains of plant life hang to overgrown seedbeds.

Virgo: A manor in birch wood. Pale walls and cracked frescoes. Dry leaves cover the floor.

Libra: A steam locomotive, rust-red and motionless on a mountain ridge. Brush presses flush against ancient wheels.

Scorpio: A white sedan parked on a brick sidewalk. A collapsed arch resting upon the hood. Kudzu covers the windshield.

Ophiuchus: A small and empty church, grey as the fog. Stone facade heavy with standing water.

Sagittarius: An empty factory floor. Snow covers rusting metal scrap, heavy and soft.

Capricorn: A blue car, parked hubcap-deep in a still lake. The sky reflected like a mirror in the surface.

Aquarius: A steel mill. Smokestack towers above mingled brick and wild oak. A clear blue sky.

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"Of what?"

"EVERYTHING. THEY SAY THE CENTER OF THE LABYRINTH IS TRUTH ITSELF."

"What do you think?"

"I THINK THEY MISUNDERSTAND WHAT A LABYRINTH IS."

"What then? What's the point of a labyrinth?"

"CONSIDER WHAT A LABYRINTH IS NOT. NOT A CAGE. NOT A VAULT. NOT A MAZE."

"Not a maze? How is a labyrinth not a maze?"

"A MAZE HAS TWO EXITS. A LABYRINTH ONLY HAS ONE."

"You can only go deeper."

Aries: An empire of cathedrals and smoke. Gold frescos of saints ensconsed within ramparts of stone and iron. Priests walk the streets disguised in sack-cloth cloaks.

Taurus: An empire of scales and stars. The citadels to an avatar of war now blooming, overflowing with the summer harvest. Winged serpents bask in the shade.

Gemini: An empire of chisels and wind. A road carved through the high mountain spine of the world. Agile horned steeds race across paths too narrow for any horse. 

Cancer: An empire of rivers and marble. Reeds grow between the tiles of old mosaics. Fresh spring thaw running clean and clear through what were once grand courtyards.

Leo: An empire of earth and sunlight. A forest of spears left thust into the soil. Grand wooden halls now rotting, planted like a seed to sprout after this long winter. 

Virgo: An empire of cotton and bone. Colossal stone lamassu patrol the dune sea, guardians built by the ancestors. None remember what they guard against.

Libra: An empire of roots and waves. A palace nestled in the great banyan, its roots stretching for leagues, nurturing the woven throne. Veins to a heart.

Scorpio: An empire of stories and song. A crown tattooed into the flesh of a ruler. A palace built by the gods, and left duly untouched.

Ophiuchus: An empire of salt and sound. A capital built where the arc wrecked upon the shore. Images of non-existent sea creatures embossed on salt-eaten armor.

Sagittarius: An empire swallowed by the earth. Divine punishment turned to worship. Temples built in reverse, dug, carved, into holy darkness. A blind priesthood. An embrace.

Capricorn: An empire of memories and time. Effigies of gardens and flowers, now buried under rime. The rivers here used to run warm.

Aquarius: An empire of brass and conquest. Patchwork regalia of all the empires before it, no understanding of their meaning. A pretender to every throne.

Aries: The fragility of minds and machines. A house of cards built in fleeting impulse and braided cord. Meditations on unraveling by something that only looks like you, only pretending to have fingers.

Taurus: The angel in geostationary orbit. It tells you of places beyond the sky. Magnet heels stuck to the satellites where they nest. “Nothing hurts here.“ They say, “Flesh boils in the void, but I feel nothing.“

Gemini: Replace every part of you that aches. Guilt and loss repaired with  pneumatic actuators. Refurbished, reinforced, your death drive train is electrical, but there is always something to rot.

Cancer: If you could think, you would think “Is this it?“ The idea that something could be better at being you than you could is a bitter pill to swallow if you were still the one swallowing pills. Are you thinking your thoughts? Or the other way around?

Leo: The burden of proof has been riveted to your skeleton. A walking counterexample for a hollow point, but your skin can resist small arms fire so in the long run you’re the winner here.

Virgo: Spring comes again and finally you can breathe. Stamens and anthers raising their voices to the sky the light feels so much warmer, the rain so much gentler. Consider it a return to your roots.

Libra: It will never be enough. Pressed flush against the edges of a body playing a chemistry setlist, desperate to strut and fret its hour upon the stage. A candle with an endless wick, thy story slow.

Scorpio: The ghost in the machine has been bottled and quarantined at 21.5 degrees celcius to keep it from metabolizing. Cast your gaze in double floating point and look away. It should all be perfect now. It should all be just perfect.

Ophiuchus: The optometrist says they’re going to have to surgically remove your third eye. The living fractals in your smartphone say to take your meds. You’re not sure who to listen to so you decide to flip a coin.

Sagittarius: God isn’t dead, he just exists as mictocondrial DNA in the biology of the larger god that ate him. God is the powerhouse of the…well, you’re not entirely sure at the moment but you’re sure you can figure it out soon.

Capricorn: A cold frontal lobe hits a pocket of warm regards and for a flash you exist as brainstorm pounded into sentience on the surface of the anvil cirrus. You rake the world with lightning and hope you hit Ludwig Boltzmann.

Aquarius: You kept the bees up to date on the latest gossip and when the apocalypse came they repaid you in full. Every sunday at three you meet with the queen for tea, you provide your own honey of course.

Aries: The storm sirens wail, the sound of colossal footsteps thunder closer. A low mournful sound that seems to crack the sky.

Taurus: The now abandoned house by the seaside. The reason there aren’t any more rat catchers in town. 

Gemini: The grey dogs in porcelain masks that wander the streets at night. The one that sat under a streetlight, and watched through your bedroom window.

Cancer: The faceless too-tall things covered in red cloth. They seemed to be enjoying the tea party the little girl had set out for them.

Leo: There were rumors that god was starving.

Virgo: The tall leafless trees that grew on the sites of the mass graves.

Libra: The disused parts of the subway network. The market that meets every Friday in the old transit hub.

Scorpio: The sudden, intense and inescapable feeling that you are lost. How the feeling fades too suddenly.

Ophiuchus: The missing statue in front of the library.

Sagittarius: The old rotting puppet that taught you martial arts.

Capricorn: The massive black roadrunner that followed your car through Utah. You didn’t say a word the whole night.

Aquarius: The angel tangled in the power lines.