‘Hunger’ by George Szirtes
Hunger I have made my piece with hunger. It’s a flea behind my ear. I scratch it on demand. I am all soft landings, quizzical windings, but hunger is what winds in me. I watch it, sharp as that beam of light stuck fast in the glass. It seems to point to a speck I must capture, toy with, and consume. So it consumes … Continue reading ‘Hunger’ by George Szirtes