Write

I

write, write

if you suffer, use your pain

take her by the hand, touch her

how to handle a brick,

hammer, a nail,

a rope, a blade;

a tool, after all.

If you're crazy, as you certainly are

use your madness: the ghosts

that fill your existence

use them as feathers for pillows;

or like fine sheets

for one night love;

or as extermination flags

of rifle regiments.

II

Use your hallucinations: an

ectoplasm serves to illuminate

a circle on the wooden table

how much it takes to write a lovely thing –

use the electric lights

of a sick mind

cook your food with the fire of your heart

temper your wounded soul

the salad, the red wine

red as blood, or white

like the sap of a cut and dying plant.

III

Use your death: kindness

of your worms' gothic graphics

the breaks chosen out of nowhere

that accentuate your words

breathless and ceremonious;

use your shroud, your candlesticks,

the litanies you can compose

– a hum to a melody – improbable

of the spheres.

IV

Use your total hell:

warm the stumps of your soul;

freeze the genital burnings;

with your fingernail, write in your blank:

One Paragraph.