One hand isn’t enough to write
These days
it takes two
and the second quickly needs to grasp
the craft of the unspeakable:
to embroider the name of a star
that will rise after the next apocalypse
to see the unbreakable thread among thousands
to weave from the fabric of passions
swaddling bands, overcoats, winding cloths
to carve a beginning from a pile of waste
Two hands aren’t enough to write
These days
with its grinding miseries
it would take three or four
for life to bother visiting
this white wretched wasteland