Solid Hunger
Hunger claws the walls of my stomach begging for escape
Why does it insist on being trapped there in the first place?
Doesn’t it know I control the acidic dungeon?
It only makes me more creative, more sensuous, more lucid and defined...
Who writes songs? The hungry
Who paints The Last Supper? The hungry
Who sculpts The Thinker? The hungry
Who writes these poems? The hungry!
Tantric tummies follow dreams of grandeur
Lazy guts rot in the day and night
Hunger is discipline for the mentally splendored
In visceral hallucinations, there is no wrong or right...
Hunger makes me hungry for sex
Hunger ransacks my soul for juice
Hunger constructs an excited perplex
Hunger fills and kindles my soulful caboose...
Hunger is a wildly taming affair
Luring the stems of my mushroom mind to split
It prepares a banquet and bouquet of fragrant despair
I seek hunger at twilight’s respite...
Friends and family are invited to my famine
The rage is almost obscene and taboo
However, if you dare to knock on its supple door
You definitely will be welcomed with rapture, too...
~daria S. dawson
© 2003
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