i will not be sated

the sky does not
contain enough stars,
nor the ground pennies,
lost and grimy.
there will never be enough
dandelion fluff
to blow over fields
of withered grass.

i will not be sated
with wishes.

a stray eyelash flutters
to my cheek,
i swipe it up with a
quivering fingertip,
my lips puff with craving,
and i press it into the
aching, churning ancient.

sage on my breath,
i wake throughout the night,
roll out my dreams
to yips of coyotes.
i walk planks of memory,
and attempt to bend
the collective to suit me.

perhaps, i think, the moon
will satisfy my desire,
but looking out and up
from my window, i see
my greed swept light
clean from atmosphere.

i am alone
with my hunger,
pitted and strange
as it is. 


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