Hunger
George Mills
elbows at bored
by the wish to know what it is
It sits in an elm,
dangling its feet,
and rises.
till art and light are useless.
hunger rages,
It has no use for squirming
buttocks, chairs that strain and creak,
angles as supper drags on. Hunger is not distracted
the breathless woman in the summer night has to say.
in the lap of the sky,
When the moment comes, it leaps
Hunger knows how Up--the ravenous dimension-- stretches on
With the back-to-back of sun and moon far below
hunger is home.
Copyright ©1998 The estate of George Mills. All rights
reserved.
George Mills' poem, Autobiographical Note
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