Kiss the Sky

Avarice does not grow alone, but

Blooms in swathes like scarlet rashes

Clothing the corpus in itching, weeping sores.

Drenched in soothing dopamine, we search,

Eating ourselves daily, satiety a perpetual impulse,

Feasting while we fast, never knowing why

Gratitude in journals and on screens still leaves us

Hungry. Open mawed and wide eyed,

Id and ego are in cahoots,

Jostling morality into dark corners,

Kneading her into new shapes

Learning nothing of happiness, and everything of relief.

Moribund, do we come too late?

Neonates once more, we thirst for

Oxytocin, as we recognise a different need.

Poultice the pock striped skin,

Quiet the mewing,

Restive soul, with gentle hands,

Soothing gentle hearts wanting only

To be loved.

Use it then, this day, this body, this world,

Vacate it unimpeded by

Wanting that which bleeds all to desolate,

Xeric waste. Look up from the

Yoke as we plough and seed and harvest the

Zeitgeist, and find instead the vast open sky.