Deluge

            of the senses.

It all
comes

with no
fault
no green eyes

no home.
      
I don't want a home.
I want myself;
I want ******
of order,
I want weeding gardens
sprouting wild
and laughing at the moon,
I don't want to
want any longer.

I'm tired of wants.
I'm exhausted of other people's
need to want
and
want to convince themselves
of need.

I don't need anybody.

I don't want anything.