Want, want.
It’s repeated in every country
in full throat or just
buzzed through a close mouth.
Want, want — explosive
as a virgin who’s letting go,
a snake on a burning tree,
a trapped bird in the terminal, a badger
before the dogs and guns, want, want;
man living in the ruins for days
under slab and dirt and stench,
want, want; baby in a pool
sinking and closing down, want,
want.
Giving up not in the cards
for anyone, none of us
immediately heeding a call to surrender
to the denial of want, want;
wanting is the principal thing,
longing for the ongoing
recreation of first burst
of air into waiting lungs
upon emergence into light and air;
the idea of need
only present in the awareness
of a future where it’s obvious
that want will not be satisfied
again.
Want, want;
demand it and if it does not happen,
it is not for lack of desire
for we are always wanting
to be,
to breathe, to love
and live, yearning
as if life
were measurable,
tangible,
something we could hold
close
forever.
Dark Matter 