The Visceral Petulance of Hunger

I have grown my stomach over-bloat.

I wear it 'round my middle, like a float,

Eating because I rather enjoy it,

Eating to fill a hole in the moment.

I have grown the stomach in my eyes.

I crave constant progress when I write.

I shop constantly for food for thought, 'cause wrong or right,

I insist on putting down a thousand words a night.

I have grown the stomach in my mind.

My tongue sits on my teeth's-edge, well-wet with appetite,

and if the teeth don't turn up anything to bite,

The tongue just might.