Manic and motivated.
Can’t figure it.
So desperate for a story.
Starving for the north.

Relaying, rehearsing, reformatting
Packaging, engineering, shipping
Composing, collecting, characterizing
Identifying, calling, imaging
Illustrating, drawing, depicting
Mimicking, manufacturing, making

Creative or compulsory?
Hard work or survival?
Ethic or addiction of sorts?
Compelled by lack and lust.
Lead along by want.
Controlled and compassed.

Captured by desire.
Enraptured with mammon.
Feed me, Mother.

We need it all.
The stomach turns and strings pull.
Like a marionette, our limbs respond.
Covetous and empty energy.
Crossing that country quick for a thing.
For an elusive answer.

Reach and grasp, link and clasp.
We are the slaves of vacuum.
The children of darkness.

Pulled by metaphysical realities, directed by hidden masters
Observable and obvious
Only the honest see it.

We all just want our piece of land.
Marked out territory.
Our own handful of dirt.
With strong fences and high walls.
Our own.
Mine.
My own.


Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash