In order to feel better one must:

Avoid liquor
Write extensively
Sing
Take showers
Dye hair red
Consider eating again
Take aspirin
Watch cheerful movies
Consider and list one's natural charms
Take another shower
Remember better times
Call a friend
Articulate the connection between heartbreak and nausea
Wait for nightfall and think not at all about tomorrow, or beautiful faces, or the overwhelming sense of loss
Recall one's ability to love and be loved in return (proven, even if not this time)
Avoid cigarettes

The Pill

alliance between the knit of bones
within this meat-locker

they only know to rut, rut, rut.

one bitter revolution per pill
per night
a sacrifice of heaving hormones,
the tidal waves that once cascaded down;
the clear silver waves holding my hair, like seaweed, down

now, no feelings to speak of.
no babies either, but
sighs of relief.

nothing to create or feel or speak of,
until even i lose interest in myself.
no one's to blame for that.

with time i myself distill

with time i myself distill
through the filter of now, yesterday,
and every sacred moment
in which bodies did blend.

the observer is the last to see
how accumulation breeds the banal;
days become just days.
tiny narratives shared over dinner
so boring
our tiny north american rituals

not enough, i know.
my head too steeped in stars
and could not see

could not but feel
the accumulation of lifeblood
in an otherwise useless heart
since revived, sweetly tested,
found wanting

the accumulation lacked substance
he said, or seems to say
or meant, were he a poet

today

uprooted
dirt clings
to slipping veins

the heart admits defeat
within its meager beating

nights of silence come again