This pain in my gut
deafens me to the
roar of the traffic,
blinds me to everything
but pictures of food.
I may very well
be this all-consuming
pit.
My eyes water as
I see a long flight of
stairs.
I am oblivious to
the sweat on
my brow.
How can I be
anything but
this driving
need,
this angry
broiling in the center
of my body?
It is easy to
understand why
this master must
be satisfied before
any kind of
reason.
But I am
not this pain,
not my impulse,
not my flesh.
I uncover my
will and make peace
with my soul's
sheath.
(Sept. 28, 2009)
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