Power, Hunger
They say one and one is two.
What if I hide one every other interval?
One and one becomes three, then four, then nine,
Keeping a breezy countenance, while
Inside calculating, calculating, the numbers
Filming perception over, and they say hunger
But I'm the one to bestarve.
They worship at my feet, scrawny drunk bastards
Out of their minds.
poem by Eon Ezkiel
Added by Poetry Lover
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