I got so good

at compartmentalization
I fucked myself
stuffed everything
in its right place
until it all started fucking
and that was good right
cause fucking’s how we got here

See, compartments
don’t fuck like you and me
Compartments fuck
like the sea fucks the sand
leaves all the bodies on the beach
blown out and pale hands
put the bodies in a pail
that fucks all the other pails
pails of bodies stuffed with pale hands

It gets to be like a shell game
thinking about how all of it started
thinking about how the poems ends
and life begins is like
fucking yourself but not with your hand
like someone showed you a picture of two rocks fucking
and right in that instant you remembered
you’re really a rock

Before all of this
I used to think about dollhouses
and the world’s smallest bible
and the church of anthrax
and nations
and lawns
and explanations
all these things
people waste a lot of time on
and it all got to be too much
and I wanted to tell you that
but you can’t say it’s all too much in a poem

It’s like writing a poem about chocolate
or saying 
don’t stare at the sun
don’t jump off that cliff
don’t listen to me
I’m a just a soft rock
that used to sweat in a hot apartment

I woke up in a strange place
excited by the possibility
of pushing myself
into a rabbit hole
at the edge of what we knew
but you can’t get lost in America anymore

I guess what I wanted to say is
after a while everything gets flat inside

Can you feel that?