getting over it

It’s time for the dead
to start drowning again. I am pulling
different objects from my throat every day now,
calla lilies and stained glass windows, dark boys
with hair flopping over their eyes.
I sigh like a sinner, all paper airplanes
and candy necklaces. Something in me is retreating
back to plastic sunglasses and broken cell phones.
I’ll try to harness the strange
music of my sadness. Somehow, somewhere.
I’d make a terrible mother, what with the blood
running down the walls and a canopy of stars
dripping waxy sweetness into my mouth.
We’re slippery with terror, especially for
the men. A fake Rolex makes me shiver like a
mouse. It’s hard to make it through the days
anymore, what with all the rubber hair brushes
and empty Dr. Pepper bottles.
If I told you how my heart was broken
you'd never sleep again. I’m obsessed with words
like sex, surrender.
Have dropped everything of value,
let it gone crashing onto the hardwood floors,
only to end up tinkling back in my teeth.
This pattern makes me itch all over,
like you with your tiny goatee.
It hurts so much I’ll cower in grocery stores,
duck and cover in the aisles of supermarkets.
Always my body giving me away, lit up
like a lantern. Breasts glowing orange
in the darkness.