Dirty black triangle appears
Empty
Neither here nor there
But appears particularly sharp in the sky
A sad fable for lost luck
A dire awaking tonight
Between thought work in the orchards
And real work with the moon
She finally arrives home tonight
After flittering about everywhere
Dress akimbo
And I'm so cross
Wool pulled over my eyes
Everyone out to get me
The dinner has gone cold
And the frog legs bad
The beer flat
Warm on the table
Free range health journalists have played fast and loose with meta relationships a few words from us could scuttle. They never speak in vague terms, only in 'subscribes' and commitments. As if every day is a wedding day with a judge overseeing the vows. But our special ladies are sovereign (vaguely) in distraction(cannot talk somebody is admiring my boobs, talk later) daddy issues are no party for anyone after all whose baby are you? Whose feed are you on translates from those operational words into the gift of your very valuable time, darling who in this wide world of Not One decent Machiavellian prince, unless your waves of gravy attn: makes him chromosomally whole who is feeding you now? In rock and roll terms the Yeahyeah yeahs warned us very well saying who's lies? Green shadows, water all over her,. In waves( health ghuru says things come in waves but not packets of information) who are you following, who's lies? Cook her one more or two more to make it three the charmer, then let her eat little debbies if she cannot eat food and endure that fiery furnace, lettereatcake.
Grief needs to be looked at and processed and you poem is powerful in its disappointment, Rulo. There are many discussion groups online for you and your readers; here' a list that can be helpful: https://postdoom.com/conversations/