Massive metal cutlery

I'm hanging on for you perfect flat,
breasts,
man who does not make me wish I was beautiful.
Some thought strings need snipping
with massive metal cutlery.
Some things, like tree rings
stay on toenails and tell things in mortaries.
Mr mortician, we can't all keep clean ships -
I at least tried to level things
with bleach but then too guilty dove overboard
to say sorry to the fish.
I rang Patrice, Medina, Lucy,
but it was ten past three,
and everything we ever did was like packing up after a party and getting a smile shaped shard
of glass in your knee.
Sleeping feotus friends, don't ring
to say you forgot to do the right thing -
you just didn’t make the move I wanted,
and that, I can eat, because I understand autonomy.

I'm ringing, in my knickers, moving like Fleetwood, making mobiles out of cutlery
and if this is a signal -
then Mr mortician felt-pen the bad bits
because I don’t give a shit about perfection,
I just want it not to be a scene
where I sit in the kitchen slowly opening
and closing the fridge, and everyone else is asleep in skin ships.

Or

Massive metal cutlery

I'm hanging on for you perfect flat,
breasts, man who does not make me wish
I was beautiful.
Some thought strings need snipping with massive metal cutlery.
Some things, like tree rings stay
on toenails and tell things in mortaries.
Mr mortician, we can't all keep clean ships -
I at least tried to level things with bleach
but then guilty dove overboard to say sorry to the fish.
I rang Patrice, Medina, Lucy,but it was ten past three,
and everything we ever did was like packing up after a party,
forcing a smile shaped shard of glass out a knee with tweezers.
Sleeping feotus friends, don't ring
to say you forgot
to do the right thing -
you just didn’t make the move I wanted,
and that, I can eat, as I understand autonomy.
Thought string of exes, I'm ringing,
in my knickers, moving like Fleetwood, making mobiles out of cutlery,
and if darkness is a signal - then Mr mortician felt-pen the bad bits because I don’t give a shit about perfection, I wont save fish from bleach, I wont ever root like a tree,
I am in the sea handling pieces of glass with tweezers, pushing off to swim with a suitcase full of massive metal cutlery
and on the top of the sea
there will not be a cinema scene
where I sit in the kitchen slowly gluch opening
and shutting the fridge, felt pen maps breeding,
everyone else asleep in skin ships.