I left a note on the dresser

for you to find in the morning.

I’d thought you would find it

while you were fixing your spirit,

the one thing they don’t have surgery for.

-

No matter how many scalpels and knives,

you just keep going back for a mix of a fix of a—

and now we’re lost here again, going round and around

in the same damn circle as the last time you

needed your kicks.

-

There’s only so many operations,

and too much too many is like a little too late,

in great quantities you’re getting held together

with safety pins and lies

to go with the cuts and the ties

that accentuate your fate turning into

a plastic doll with a plastic face.

There’s only so much scalpels and knives can erase.