Mother dearest, please stop crying.
Your eyes are red and waterlogged
like a heart in a jar
of seawater.  Those clumsy eyes
dropped their intentions again,
dropped their bombs without thinking
about the impending nuclear winter.

The say grave flowers are watered
by tears, by grief and love (and good
fertilizer).  Considering your ****-filled
flash of teeth, you should know.
Your heart is a graveyard, flowering
with thorny roses and black
berries, locust trees and crab apples.

If you shook any harder, you
would jostle yourself apart.  Rusted
bolts twist free of their joints
rolled too tight.  When you collapse,
you'll say it's my fault again.  But,
how can I shatter your bones when
you never let me stand for myself?