The Parade, or A Love Poem

I feel like
I'm hungry and my veins are full of sugar

Like a sputtering sedan someone's converting to run on corn syrup,

Motor's been starved of fuel until it resigns

And accepts whatever flows into its valves.

And I'd shudder at the thought of substance.

And my hunger is the sordid revelry

Of an empty town through which

Runs a parade of all its people

Waving at their vacant homes.