The pull before you give it a name. What the body has been wanting while you negotiated with it.

Hunger

Late spring opens an appetite. This week we name what we want, without polishing it, without apologizing, and notice what we have been calling by other names.

Each face in the street is a slice of bread
wandering on
searching

somewhere in the light the true hunger
appears to be passing them by
they clutch

have they forgotten the pale caves
they dreamed of hiding in
their own caves
full of the waiting of their footprints
hung with the hollow marks of their groping
full of their sleep and their hiding

have they forgotten the ragged tunnels
they dreamed of following in out of the light
to hear step after step

the heart of bread
to be sustained by its dark breath
and emerge

to find themselves alone
before a wheat field
raising its radiance to the moon

Bread

Each face in the street is a slice of bread
wandering on
searching

Write a permission slip for one appetite.

you never asked for permission
not once
now i am supposed to write it for you
as if it could make any difference now?
why i wonder
why do you care
you never did
you still dont 
and i dont think you ever will 
you want permission
but for what exactly
you already stole of me what you should have protected
you took my soul
my mind
all i see is you
all i feel is you
and it hurts
and it tears 
and its wrong and i hate it i hate it i hate it
and you now want permission?