Nepenthe

A poet writes to be able to rememberthat there lies an unfinished poemon his desk waiting to be completedas he sits on his pot taking a shit;a poet writes so that he can bear theweight of foodcrashing against his oesophagus;a poet writes to be able to gather the strength to walk down thedoctor’s corridor for a prostrate exam;a poet writes to be able to open a jar of pickles; a poet writes so that he can take a walkin the park and pick up leaves knowingthat it is his job to romanticise it all;a poet writes to be able to fuck;a poet writes to be able to guide his glassof whiskey all the way to his mouth and gulp it all down with the certainty that he can still work;a poet writes to be able to make a pile out of the empty lighters he is soexhausted to refill; anda poet writes to be able to afford a packet of ramen;and his gastritis medications;and his melatonin strips;and his Vitamin B’s;and his apples;and his condoms;and his electrolytes; the rest is uselessA poet writes so that he is able to stand above the body of thecockroach he had squashed under his feet knowing that he has the power toimmortalise its death;a poet writes to be able to read;and to be able to write; and to beable to breathe. And there is no one who can change that.