Dear public figure whose private life is tabloid

Dear public figure whose private life is tabloid
I am writing to tell you abut the fact of fading.
If what you did is articulate, call a conference
and practice eyebrow expressions in the foyer.

Your treasury heart will keep beating, we will see it in the lense,
a page 6 crop shot of a panicky pulmonary.
You might not feel OK for quite long periods,
mornings will freak in your eyelids
your stomach will confetti
and every other minute you might want to lie down and think.
You might think you are the only gravity,
but your house will fall down, you will forget your birthday, your eyelids will stop conveying.
So send out for whiskey, send out for gin, send out for cigarettes and freezer meat and forgiveness.
Remember who you asked to assist, and who actually did.
Say sorry a hundred times into the corner of the shower cubicle.
Collect in the artillery of your family
let their body language be paparazzi ventriloquism.
The wolf is in your eyebrows, eyelids –
stay still and orbit.