Do it in the darkness.
Do it with the wisdom of despair
wrapped around you like a rag
drenched in dark blood, old
losses, pleasures remaining in the mouth,
the teeth of sepulchre. Do it
entombed in your wisdom.
Do it secretly. Write
like a flame in the crispness,
a charred bark to come, but for now
you are flaming and wise,
you are deciduous, dirty,
pine leaves at the floor of the forestry World,
the dark emancipations of disgust
that threaten the Order.