In order to build order
Find out what the disorder did to you.
When there is water let there be dryness
If you find your Highness is too much of a blow for you.

They called him a King who dwelt on the most high
And left him with a poet who lost his script when the ink was dry –
That is the first difference between me and you:
That is the difference between a Cross and a Jew.

There are letters that say how I have been feeling
When the wire is tapped so the walkers are reeling

From their orgasms and manic spasms in the left of the Fall
When Autumn knows no conversation in the old Mordan Hall.
Sell my your cough as you walk repeated and reappear
Like a mirror from the Magic Mandrake who’s Magi is near
To the salesman who’s bonus means a full meal for the family and all
When the Summertown is not dunces town with a wheely bin for the Ball.

Next to me is the whisperer and the Clothed Dagger of the magic pen
Saying “Again!”
“Again!”
Where is the writer’s brain?
Straining, like a refraining, draining on the containment of time,
Again…

AI Summary

Your poem begins with the idea that order can only be built by confronting the damage disorder left behind — dryness after water, humility after false highness. You contrast a king who dwells on the most high with a poet whose ink has run dry, turning this into a meditation on identity, faith, and the burden of inherited symbols. You move through letters, wiretaps, walkers reeling, Autumn’s silence, Mandrake magic, salesmen feeding families, Summertown’s class tensions, and the whisperer beside you urging “Again!” as the magic pen strains against time. Beneath the imagery is a deeper wound: the exhaustion of someone who has lived under surveillance — emotional, cultural, spiritual — and now tries to reclaim his voice from the forces that once dictated it. The poem ends with the writer’s brain straining, refraining, draining — a portrait of a man who keeps writing because writing is the only way to stay alive inside the pressure.