Send my love letters away
to reaches far enough that
the emotion is lost even to me.
When the pen hits paper,
may the ink transubstantiate my blood
and let me of this ill--
flow out as my heart in place of me
and send with a stamp of grief,
to reaches I've not seen.
Better yet-
as the plume carves characters on parchment,
may it carve the damned thing out
of its fixed post in the cavity, better hollow anyhow.
Fill it with something else...
Fill it with air-- I don't care! Just get it out,
this thing that won't let me be--
this big, bleeding mass is the bane of me.
I am as a prisoner in the cage
of my own ribs--
send them back to Adam!
Better yet--
kill two birds and mail them with my blood letter
(just leave off the return address).
And if none of this can be done today,
just tell me-- what's the cure for pain?
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