My Maslow

     ...air...water...food...

I exhale none but air 

inhaled where...? Dans la mer.  

Plus I bottle fresh water 

in Perth. 
All the 'shrooms I consume 

only bloom in Khartoum.

(Oh, if only I'd known this 

from birth.) 

...more food...

I've had, yes, mix'd success 

with this old apple press. 

It provides me my cider 

and sauce. 

Plus these ground peas I find 

former slaves left behind. 

(Leaves me numb crumbs I stumble  

across.) 

     ...more food...

See my seashore tureen 

made with seaweed I glean...?

(I make salt by the seashore 

as well.)

And, like Winnie-the-Pooh, 

I crave honey. (Don't you...?) 

It's a fondness I don't care 

to quell. 

     ...supportive environment...

The mere smell of a rose 

casts a spell o'er my nose, 

as do odors of clovers and 

lilies. 

Likewise, jasmine and pine 

are great fav'rites of mine. 

(Scent of feet tends to mete me the 

willies.) 

     ...waste...

Full, I urinate south 

of the Amazon's mouth, 

so to irrigate forest and 

flora. 

Deeply buried my shit be

outside Chloride City.

(I can't seem to locate 

Gomorrah.) 

     ...sleep...

Ev'ry nighttime I sleep 

a full eight -- soundly, deep: 

nine's too many but seven's 

too few. 

Sure, I wish I slept more; 

waking life's such a chore. 

How to do so I haven't 

a clew. 

     ...clothes... 

All the clothing I sport's 

sewn from milk cartons (quarts),  

supplemented by trips to 

Goodwill. 

I refuse to wear shoes,

much preferring to choose, 

dusk till dawn, to sit, yawning...

but still. 

     ...shelter...

If unable to find 

a dry cave of some kind,

then I dwell in a shelter 

of hay. 

Or, like Disney's Three Pigs, 

I use twigs to build digs. 

(Sadly, neither keep grey wolves 

at bay.) 

     ...safety... 

Paranoia is not 

the disorder I've got: 

I experience reason'd 

suspicions. 

Which is why I proceed 

getting guns which I need -- 

not to mention defensive 

munitions. 

 

     (a work in progress)