Before you write a love letter, learn a new language, not to understand the vulnerability of wordlessness, I mean be fretful at dawn in a flurry of words unspoken, I mean find a new alphabet, one which delineates with virgules and diacritics to the heart, throw out phonetics, abandon letters that wail into the night, never imagine this sentence again, abandon sound, I mean find a new system entirely, ideographs that imprison your heart’s spill of ink, abandon your beloved implements for bristle-weeping, choke on smoke signals, smite the light from your eyes, go back to caves where writing was just counting what was owed, don’t forget that, how much your bones were worth in the cold, how there was starvation before there was poetry, cut out your hands if they long to describe things, there is nothing to touch where you are going, blast your ears if they start to hear music, there is no music, remember, no sound, you are dying organ of sense by sense, a full glottal stop, there is no tremble at the back of your throat, not where you are, there is a gag reflex, there is the whole world you want to spit out, there is sticky on the ground, don’t read this coagulation for substance, your phlegm is not communicating, there is no sentiment in lacunae phlegm suspends to not be liquid.
