Starvation eats your stomach
as you digest
yourself
a writer is intimately connected with their digestion
loving dainty desserts, with black espresso
and chocolate covered cherries
or the citrus smell of star-fruit.
It helps the writing, to eat well
a tender steak with pink juice and a baked potato
with butter, and snapped green beans
salt and pepper
and sparkling water, with pure cranberry juice
living well, is an art
while the starving writer
needs to have soul
because
without it
there is nothing else to eat.
the public, has fear
and their indigestion backs-up
their days, with busyness
bills need to be paid
an expired driver’s license
insurance?
an oil change, 1000 miles over-due
car problems
house problems
plugged plumbing
an unruly neighbor, who insists on the rules, “Trim your tree, god damn it! Or talk to my lawyer.”
accountants
and taxes to be paid
it takes money to die
Art, takes time
Life, takes time
Time, isn’t real
Change, is
Feelings, make us feel
we are living wrong
If reading is an escape,
what are people doing, that they need to escape from?
This is the secret, the rich and poor don’t know
it’s unfair, that the people who go to fairs
aren’t entertained
writing about life, is pleasant
like a perfect blue sky, with puffy clouds
with nothing to say, to anybody
the feast is yours
steal yourself away, and break your own laws
there isn’t much time
the river changes each year
when you find a perfect pool to swim in
to catch trout in
and you lay on that bank to read your book
found in a store—or, it found you
the darkness won’t matter, anymore
noise is a distant memory
chaos creates appreciation
for
peaceful contemplation
whether your stomach is full, or empty.