microwave pasta poisons the birds

it is not love that will get rid of that feeling

of lack of love

it is not pain that will absolve

numbness

it is not what it is

that makes is it

and it is not not

that makes you come to know no

but instead it is you there waiting

for something that will make it all

become it all for you

breathless and unrelenting

tireless and relaxing

able to be comprehended and accepted

as you churn against the electric green of ungrowing nature

and wordless winds that clatter against buildings

built before you

yet you must find home

lasting after you

yet you must find peace

creating a shadow that swallows your own

like a warmless womb again

drawing up the tube of an elevator

stumbling to a chair

clicking on pixels of food

wondering when you will ever be full