The mind goes, eventually,
where it needs to go. As does the body.
Not so with the heart.
The heart has nothing for need. It sits in a little hut, and all the
roads
are well-worn, all the wagons breaking.
Tonight’s breakthrough is I try to lull myself
by imagining that I have been badly burned.
In the drawings I can’t draw there is a new window
open on the left side of my neck. The lulling is for this,
for shutting it.