tissue boxes in the underworld

inside my head is a waterwheel.
i hold a vase of flowers 
& walk around the block with it
pretending i'm delivering them
to a new goddess. when i feel manic
i try to look for hummingbirds.
it is winter & the hummingbirds
have all become piles of leaves.
i should spend less time 
feeling sorry for myself but 
then i open the silverware drawer
& there are all those spoons
i have to father. i never used to
buy tissues. i just waited 
to find myself in hell. heat so great
the tears would evaporate 
as they hit the air. no crying 
in self-destruction. my blood
was a cloud around us. red mist.
mars fell from the sky.
red bouncy ball. my partner buys tissues
& i'll often pluck one just
to have something to hold
& set fire to. a distress signal
sends itself from my chest:
a little mechanical bird.
i catch him & twist his head off.
feel guilty about it for weeks but
no one can know just how close to collapse
i am living. i'm one shoe away 
from running barefoot
in december. one tissue box away 
from pushing all the spoons
out the window & onto the sidewalk.
i no longer want to live 
in a box in a box in a box. 
there should be more 
spherical homes. i hollowed out
a pear to sleep in for tonight.
sticky & short-lived. this is how
i exist. sweet rotting walls.
a tissue box far away
rings like a telephone. 

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