Autopsychography

The poet is a feigner,
feigning so completely
that even the pain he feigns
is a pain he feels so deeply.

And those who read his pain,
in reading truly feel
not the two pains he had,
but the one they lack, unreal.

And thus on its tracks turning,
to inspire the mind and impart,
there’s a clockwork locomotive of string
known simply as the heart.

Translated by Martin Earl for