Wanting for all Things

It’s a small thing
            my ego. Smaller
                        than soul or spirit,

impatiently
            stamping around, a
                        bilious liver

from long years of
            bottles, bacon and
                        burgers. It always

wants for something –
            maybe large, maybe
                        small, but in craving

mode, brushing off       
            any appeasement
                        that might slip in

to dive back in
            desire’s pool. I think
                        ego’s like those fish

who walk when forced
            to other rivers
                        or ponds. Ego beats

best when bathed in
            discontent and any
                        venture on solid

satisfaction
            is only movement
                        to the very next

sloppy longing.

My soul, in rhythmic dance, opens and closes like the moon’s slow white eye,
is
patiently amused as she turns her dark head to stare into the bliss of pure eternity.

— VH McKinnie

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