Sending Icebergs

There is
vomit
in the garden
you’ll have to bury
before the dog
eats it

and your shoe
and your sock
and your pant leg
all have vomit
on them

this is what
your morning looks like

this is what
tea
and
hand rolled
cigarettes
gets you

and your head will roll
through gutters
through mud
through porno shops

and your garden will bloom
behind your back
with things
too sweet
or too sour
for you to keep down

Maybe you’re trying to love me
and maybe we’re fighting the same war.