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.

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