Basic organic needs have not changed
For thousands of years: sustenance and shelter,
Warm rest and dry beds have spoiled us—
Such desires breed luxuries, such luxuries breed new hungers
Upon that need, I project out into the predawn darkness
Of this room, then toward the dawn of electronic lights.
This savior of the new hunger,
This binarized comfort of too chaotic a world
Promises love like a microwave meal:
Instantly. The Virtual, with the Actual
Blend in the forefront of tired eyes
Smiling faces beguiling one’s pity:
A need, after all, inspired such independence.
Let desire run wild, in its cardinal directions:
Left, right, right, right, right, left,
Everyone I want, no one I don’t—
I can almost taste these flattened cuts
Of my carnal cannibalism leashed only by distances:
A breast, a thigh, a leg, a cut of ****
Belly fat and rinds, prime cuts and scraps,
Dark meat or white, a haunch, the gizzards—it matters little,
Please, Mr. Butcher, show me today’s specials
Please, Mr. Butcher, give me your best cut—
You promise I can have it all, and it’s not even 6:00 a.m.
I give the window a knock to break this fast,
But no one comes as my eyes adjust
To the dark window, all hunger pulling my features down,
Waiting for some sign of life, for the smiling faces
On all the signage to greet me, to unlock the door
To the vast virtual marketplace, to gift a pulse
To someone so starved of pleasures.