the way i write

writing comes from outside me and
i reach towards it with one hand
wrapped around a pencil, it snorts
and pounds the ground with
its hooves but i dress in a fancy sash
and turn my back to the audience.
writing is afraid of the helicopters
tracing its footprints with spotlights.
i promise writing i will never tell
anyone,
that it can hide behind my secret door
which is a luxurious very old bookcase
and when you pull on the almanac
from the year your grandfather was born
it will not come off the shelf.