Depression Poem for Jessica Star who saw what was left and could not make it through the night.

"If we can't have everything, what is the closest

amount of everything we can have? I don't

have the slightest idea how the moon

reflects light. So I follow my own

disasters closely

like Romanizing my bones; my loose powdered

down ideograms. My warm Zantac, Gaviscon

juices that rise like angels

to the flood line in my basement.

In search of food, ibises come to wade

in the waters I've imagined. Woe me

trying on the two piece bathing suit in Macy's.

Woe the starving children in our town.

Woe this flesh that betrays us.

Woe the grinding wheels of justice.

Woe, sometimes I feel like no one cares for me.

Then I snap the fingers of my soul

suspended above even the bride's head

and each and every time,

it's  never enough.