you’re sad again & everyone can tell.
sadness hath been visited upon your face.
dumb face can’t even keep itself to itself.
your mouth a weird brand of suffering
when sadness comes to your doorstep
he brings a newspaper cone of dead
rhododendrons, he’s already eaten
the bloom. you put them
in porcelain anyways, invite him in.
when he’s all moved inside you
let the world know. you say, i am sad,
to anyone inquiring into the time
or directions to the subway. you say,
i am sad, it’s not so much
a weight as a series of levers pulling
the meat around. not so much a place
as the edge of map slowly being eaten
by flames. your therapist doesn’t want you
to start from the beginning again. instead
focus on manageable steps. from here to
the refrigerator, from there to your flight out
of town. best have some lambs blood spread
across the front door so the next time
sadness comes, he’ll pass over your house
& into your neighbor’s son. you in your
wedding dress weeping on the front stoop,
ass peaking out below that white storm cloud.
or maybe it’s time for the pills. chemicals
your brain’s been aching for since learning
of their existence, a boy you fell in love with
on television & stalked online until he grew
drugged out into a thin line then dead.
no one carries the already drowned out
of the river unless they cared for the body
while it lived. i’m standing at the edge
of the river & naming all the garbage
floating past, my sadness. the bodies,
the bodies, my sadness. the boats
& the bloated animals & the broken in