When he does not bleed but writes

When the writing, ceases
And the talk seems so adamant

Work appears so oddly opaque.

The writing has ceased

He is a
stretched wound..

Some people didn’t observe
Nor ask
Why is he talking so much
And working, oddly

How do you gather the words
To send them to him

Both
bleed

The poem had some structure
Like a non-written thought

The writing
Has ceased

Kept from them
Close to self’s self-talk more and more
On the future

The future will have a method to be writing