poem: atonement is the name of a book

I can feel the surge inside me — water coming up
from the underneath; people sneering, poland subdued–
I would wait for my lover at the window,
in a green dress, but how can I
if I cannot manage a morning routine? — depression
is a modern invention, generation z does not
need our grandmothers’ ecstasy, we have
unreality / darkacadamia/ and whatever the fuck
“cottagecore” is — the femme fatales, of
unspecified genders, take off their shoes
at the fountain, ready to be
raped; I can feel the surge of the fountain I am
the fountain, water coming up
to drown and cleanse and remake; but I,
will not be here my lover was downed in a spitfire
over the channel I was downed in my bedroom
will pills and could not make it to the door
to receive the telegram, piss-yellow-paper crumbled
in my hands and my uterine face taped
against the wall — for oh! so many!
likes and retweets.