Five drops of chestnut flower
into half a beaker of water.
A remedy for grief if I swirl it once
and throw it back like vodka.
Light a stick of agarwood.
Stand it up in a Japanese bowl
and flop back on the futon.
Serve the word, spread the word.
Try to ignore the harpoon in my back.
Try to ignore the insects in my blood.
Stare at the ceiling a while.
A million things to do today.
I clap a mosquito off my knee.
Snap the fingers in the center of my forehead.
Then turn to the photo
of a man who graces every wall here.
I said every wall.
What I do?
More or less, it is this.