11:00 AM Mon. Wed. Fri.

Hunger has found me,
Yet again.
My gut a wasteland,
See that it is barren.

I fight this battle,
For the second time today.
They sacrifice cattle,
To keep hunger at bay.

I daydream of sleep,
While it talks,
Of sowing what reaps,
Back and forth it walks.

My final bedtime story,
Before my heart stops
An irrelevant allegory
On the invention of clocks.

Unlike the one I gaze upon,
Waiting, always waiting
To find where my interest has gone.
Probably somewhere fascinating.

Clearly, not here.
I collapse to my binder bed
Nearly for a year
Awaking with cheeks of red.

As the bell strikes noon,
Maestro does not quit
I’m “packing up too soon”
But to my hunger, ache, and apathy…I submit.


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