Incorrigible hoarder of the useless and perishables
Fridge full of forgotten decay and unfinishing leftovers
A comforting illusion of plenty and unending riches
To which she nibble away, always leaving behind ten percent

"The Song of Not Self"

Habits, are not the self
Customs, laws, nationalities
       are not the self
Conventions, language, vision, taste
       are not the self
The rolling Georgian hills, the Himalayas
The western Rockies, the eastern Smokeys
The northern forested Canadian home of the white bear
The White Cliffed Isle, the frozen Red Gulag
The cities clogged with motion, the empty vast stretches
       the round, wet, green, globe circumferenced, the stars
       are not the self
The perishables
       are not the self