this is a hunger poem ,

    my stomach is rumbling , and the coyote pelt with its whiskers sits there staring
with empty cut out eyes in the dining room. it was $22 bucks on eBay;
  the stool is twisted at its ankles
and I call for no-one's help.

My nephew has been diagnosed bipolar and so I calm him down;
the rain falls gently on the porch outsides and I drive to a
gas station.

$5 in nickels, the pump greased with sanitizer, I squirt it in.
     a  10th of a tank, and a 10th of
  human heart -- rolling into a dusty willow patch and making no amends.
we all must die
sometime