A Hunger of Sorts

It’s dreadful when you’re hungry
and it hits you in the clavicle
makes it plain it is not food
but doesn’t pinpoint what it is

to identify would be at least a start
yet you do know that no t-bone
could calm this…whatever
that plagues the bone above the heart
and you try – almost absent-mindedly –
to erase it with one and then
with both your hands and there –

suddenly realizing you must look
like a sarcophagus with your palms
face-down crossed high on your torso

such welcome respite…comic relief
from the longing or the hunger
or the yearning that refuses
to be baptized, diagnosed
or in any way labelled
and simply remains
just out of reach
of names

Weltschmerz ?
Tempted to let it go at that…
although I know such
is just an easy out

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