poem

There is no precious
Anymore
Just stuff
In barrels, boxes, crates
Organized
And More
And more
So much more
And so cheap that
No one cares,
Overflowing
Abundance
Yet, but
Destitute.


We hoard because we
Want.
There is no need
Except the need like a hunger that is
Never
Satisfied, still chewing on the inside
And swallowing, black hole
Down the gullet, grind
Down that satisfaction till it’s a
Skinny
Starving
Never sleeping
Desire.

Let it go.
Let it go.
Make a space for something new and small.
Open
Give up the
Clutch and Cling.
Clean the slate
So you are New and
Possible.

More will always come your way.