Here is one easy trick to get back something you've lost:
Put the broken pieces in a *** of milk and boil it
And then let it sit in the milk as long as you can stand it
And once your entire house smells like putrefaction
Pull out that Ming vase or whatever the ****
Good as new
Stinking of cheese
Definitely 100% the same as it always was and
Nothing
Lost in the process
And I know you'll do it too
You'll roll your eyes at me while I give you my good advice
But later when no one's watching
Well, the only one to see how embarrassed you'll be is you
Broken china and filthy hands and house to match
It was so easy and you missed it so much you'd ignore the milk
You'd ignore the smell and you'd even dip your hands in it
And you'd smash the seam together like a stupid child
And you'd sit on the floor covered in the slime and trying and failing to hold back tears because it was supposed to be easy and you've lost more than loss, you've destroyed more than broken, now you've desecrated something precious and debased yourself to boot, how
STUPID

Here is one easy trick to save time and money:
Throw the **** thing away.

Of course I’m selfish
What else would I be
Kneeling on bones and shielding them
With my body
With bared teeth
Well where else would I be
Does anybody not build this sort of monument
I want to know whose fridge isn’t covered
With crayoned blueprints
And then I want it to be me
Who told me to think this stuff
And when did I start listening
When did I stop fighting the hands
Pulling at my shoulders and waist
And turn inward instead
But also
Where the **** else would I be

When I speak do I sound like decay?
I spit the shredded,
The crushed,
The drenched and tattered
Pieces of high-cost academic language,
The old fashioned phrases with which I
Dressed my words in dignity,
The symbols of all that I attained before I stagnated and regressed...
Did I pluck truffles from the mountainside?
Did I shovel them in me,
Greedy like a coal furnace,
Only to heave them up later as wretched slime?
Now, for the stench, no one can understand me,
No one can even try

Walking along the side of the mighty sea,
In the shady overhang of the cliffs that ever hem it in,
I came upon a pool of black blood,
Which spread infinitely far out into the water,
And touched the sun low at the horizon there.
Looking up, my eyes found a crucified man,
Upon whose shoulder perched a fearsome eagle,
Its beak stained with brown and black crusted blood.
His torso was cratered, nearly hollowed out,
Bleeding as hard as a fresh wound.
His head lolled, and sweat beaded on his pale brow,
But when I went to loosen the chains that held him there,
His eyes snapped open, and he said to me,
"You will find if you go out of your way to help
In matters like these
That you will be worse off for it."
He closed his eyes again, and waved his chained hand at me to go.

Leather shell, harder, harder, brittle!
Take care to sit lightly where lies the treasure.
And I, red haired and sharp nosed,
My soft paws hiding hard nails,
I have come to sop up the yellow yolk.
Warm and steaming I have Disappeared it!
And somewhere she sighs for the wasted labor,
The calloused farmer's hands that will steal the rest.

Thick-lidded, thick-lipped, rough-skinned,
Lush clusters of shining leaves like black wavy hair...
She was born before love was gentle,
And took heavy beetles and scurrying lizards to her bed.
They pulled her hair and chewed her skin;
Tough and thick, the waxy skin,
But paper-pulp-tearable, all the same!
Now when she lies back and gives herself
To the gentle ministrations of bees,
They whisper to each other about their work,
"Does this thick-ankled gray statue
Feel anything at all?"
She sighs, and they, thin-fingered handmaidens,
Scatter from the heaving trunk.

In ashes, in ashes,
My family in ashes.
I took for myself and built my world,
I refused only to light the scene of others' stories,
And He, who behaved the same and worse!
He spited me for it!
Wrecked me for it!
Why must I suffer marriage to a wasted insect,
And give birth to the unspeakable blot of blood?
Where once I was great and winged,
Now I am a wet bird too bedraggled and matted to fly,
Dripping my tears over the grass
Where my lover's thin-legged voice echoes,
Singing "Locusts! Ashes!"
And where my baby's silent bones lie.