Pieces of Life

My body rests heavily on the thin pieces of thighs that are my legs,

Motionless and lame, I yearn with my eyes and single hand

They both, outstretched forward, face them like a spearhead

And the sharpness in my eyes conceals their inability to clearly see them.

The intensity of my urge is underscored by the piece of my left hand,

It wags in a spiral movement like the tail of a suckling lamp

Only unlike it, this wagging is not fuelled by the pleasure

Of continually gulping a mouthful of sweet fresh milk

Mine is compelled by the loud unending bodily groans,

a hot ball of burning sentiment circumnavigating my entire belly,

wrapping me in helplessness

And by the intense anticipation of the clink of a silver coin

on my outstretched steel plate

or better, a currency note, for the stretch of my hope knows no bounds.

As the sun bows and retreats into the horizon,

My cold street corner darkens, and I see them no more

The loud music and city noises slowly dissolve into night

They leave me with nothing save for my pieces of life but full hope.