i
will
no longer
purchase goods or
make bold choices in
the super market
place
products in my room
will no longer
advertise my preferences
(nor shall wallet or watch
proclaim my identity)
if you can read me by
the decoration of my room
then when i am gone of this world-
why do you miss me?
true, in my room
dwells my soul
but my possessions
do not define me
and i cease to be myself:
this pencil
that garment
this bed
that nail, screw, tack and thread...
tied to the reel of avaricious profit men
whose noses so big
can not see
the middle
know i have found peace
(a release)
a life of simple desire