Take this pill
not that pill.
Love this sort of person,
not that sort.
Embrace only
the finest sense of doom.

The garbage workers
take away other centuries
dark mornings.

Every thing you will lose,
others have lost
and they’re stepping into elevators
with birthday parties
still happening around them,
red balloons grazing death.

I look at the plant
you have placed in a vase
on the windowsill
you fill weekly with water.

Such a simple glass heart.

Then I remember it is the top
of a palm you had to cut
with scissors, because
it was pushing into the ceiling tile
of a room.

It is beheaded and doing well.

Like so, so many of us.

I bet parts of you have been severed.

I bet you’re a patchwork somewhere,
just holding it together.

Frankenstein, be brave.