paradox of choice

the man who starved to death

because he couldn’t pick a place to eat

among the Shinagawa streets

the paradox of choice

The chicken, fish and vegetables

the land of rising tower bones

and wasted milk and honey

from a bosom with no voice

To eat alone in company 

of many hungry ghosts

casting shadows over hollow meals

the butter on your toast

a charcoaled finger, fading slow

as princes steal the sauce from you

the petty peckish whims of which

shall feed on those below