I Yearn For Nothing

What is it to dream, to lie to have to scheme

The ways in which the jealous human, comes

 to terms the things to have in life? What’s

to care what’s in the fridge for tomorrow,

Hoping it be not the leftovers you carelessly

Thrown aside. I open and close the door.

walk away hopeless. Then check again,

like a miracle hunter, for ice cream and pork.


I binge. I fill myself with what I have, the taste never filling,

the meats are plastic, and the breads are sawdust. The

ice cream is some old grease your fixer left behind.

Maybe it’s gasoline. Or vegetable oil. Great.

I have nothing to cook. Not like I would cook for anybody. I

open and close the door. Walk away hopeless, then check again

for bills and green bills, for red cards and golden stones.


I spend. I am just about bankrupt at the last swipe.

Only two dollars in my wallet, and used-up cards. The

golden stones were sold away. Then I gave away the fruits.

Lovely. I have nothing. Polyester and rayon; wool and cashmere;

and denim and cotton. I leave with all the store’s goods. I

open and close the door. Walk away hopeless.

Then check again, for the neighbors I’ve known.


I stay. I put myself down, and land myself

on the floor-like pavement. Cold and hard. All

whom I have known have fled for the desert lands.

The fertile soils have given up a long time ago. The

dust beginning to gather. I begin to think, but

my mind clouded, my mouth flamed, my limbs melted.

I open and close the door. Walk away hopeless.

Then check again

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