I don't think the poet writes because he knows something
I think rather that he writes because he ignores something
and his ignorance of what he ignores is so great
that even in the presence of knowledge he continues to ignore

open a letter
close a door
kiss a mouth
pets a cat
have a wine
cut their nails
fuck half the world
half the world cries
loves
bursting with anger

suddenly as if a decapitated angel's head
fell or rose from the repeated time of things
will strike the bare groin of the scruffy poet
he remains with his hands akimbo on his waist
and the gaze scattering unreasonable ancestors
and his beaver's heart swells with blood that he asks

He does not write
it is impossible for the poet to write because he knows something
it is because he ignores tabula rasa with his back to God himself
it is ignorance that pinches the balls
he writes because he is full of questions