Feed Me

What I want and what I need

what I want to want

and what I think I want

are different

and changed again.

 

Praise sandwiched in snide greens  I can deal with.

But praise unbound leaps and gags the wary mind.

 

So feed me:

News in small digested parcels.

Awe in sane confects I can see and understand.

Joy in self-contained units, allotments of peace.

Lust in sanitised tray with neat compartments.

Change in easy gulps, fear in whispered inklings.

 

Feed me when the world turns colder.

Don’t open what I cannot bear.

Close the door, the draughts, the weather…

I fear ‘too much’, I crave no more.