the river of need

when lungs are dry, throats lost in sand, royalty sheds its own robe

when things which don’t like to slink at all get thirsty they walk roads with Job.

for the elements beat you, grand nature it wins, as you can not hold out past your fiber

this holds true for salesman, for washer, for driver, minding not if you’re ostrich or tiger.

You can flex forth your sheen, show the light of your muscle, you can smile with the whitest of fang

but no posture on earth can erase what the rib and the throat know of hunger’s wet pain.

So hide not your need, dip down with your thigh, admit you don’t preen your own coat.

For life is a castle you never did build, and you won’t on your own forge its moat