The Hungry Machine

Is the reason why you want the truth
The hungry machine wants.
It wants to feast on the hope that lies above the clouds.
The hungry machine wants,
Because there is so much that is missing.
The truth that will go to waste,
Because there is so much that is missing.
It doesn't matter to the machine that it's the middle of the Night,
Does the machine want to feast on the truths?
The hungry machine.
It switches that card with the card called the truth.
Drop dead,
The hungry machine spits out.
What next will the fulfilled stomach want?
Something to love.
Somebody to love.
When the missing part is put in place,
What will be left?
Money?
The material?
They're all the same, aren't they?
The reason why the machine keeps moving
Still,
The machine does not stop.
Switching frustration with the quest for truth.
The swindler in Buddha imposture.
In the TV tube,
A nine year old Utrillo falling, all nude.
Not there,
Not here,
The hungry machine whines and keeps screaming.
Although it's so precious,
Although it's so much wanted,
The hungry machine screams.
What next,
When love is found?
Money?
Prestige?
Buddha degraded to being a swindler.
But it's too early to feel safe yet.
The only thing is,
It can't be found.
It's the only thing that's wanted to fill the stomach.
The hungry machine screams,
Seeking the truth and the answer.
The image of the nine year old Utrillo floats on the bed.
Not there,
Not here,
The machine screams.
The machine gives birth.
Fake words pretending to be the answer.
Look at the poets writing poetry!
Open your eyes
And look at it.
What do you see?
Love?
What do you see?
The truth?
You lie.
Lies take on the form of poetry.
Lies take on the form of love.
Lies take on the form of truth.
Whining, the hungry machine screams.
I'm hungry.
I'm hungry.
Engulfed in the night of despair, hands reach out
Towards the lies floating in the air.
Lies take on the form of money.
Lies take on the form of the material.
Lies take on the form of prestige.
And thus,
There isn't all that much that is needed.
Tell me.
I want you to tell me.
What is it that I want?
The machine screams inside my body.
I'm in tremendous pain.
And thus,
There isn't all that much that is needed.
Tell me.
I want you to tell me.
Give me love.
Love.
Love.
A precious word that's so embarrassing.
The machine screams.
All I want is that just one thing to love.
Confusion invites more confusion.
Lies fill the room.
The words of the poet slip away between the fingers.
The machine doesn't know what to eat.
By now, it doesn't know anything anymore.