The city breeds

Disease

These lonely streets crowded with strangers

The noise of technology

Deafening

=

I have peered into every shop window

Starving, admiring

Lingering and counting my desperate budget

My bags always empty

On return

=

I measure greed by necessity

I am a collector of idols

Nowhere in my closest is my identity exposed

My soul is not scattered across my possessions either

(Perhaps in my books)

They are but a black hole

Drawing in more, revealing nothing

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