Hungry Poetry

What’s the point of telling stories 
That no one wants to hear?
 
A word can be sold for a dime, 
A sentence for a dollar 
You can write a essay 
Worth five cents 
A poem worth 
The shoes on your feet 
That have been threatening to fall off 
Since before you got them 

People tell me
It is a poet’s fate to starve 
Aching stomach 
Breaking heart 
In the streets 
As you stumble around on 
Barely working feet 
Stubborn are the writers who only write 
After all 

A word cannot put silk clothes 
On hunched backs 
A sentence cannot shovel spiced food 
Into gaping mouths. 
They tell you shake hands with 
Numbers and Stats 
They tell you to look to the money 
Lined furs and press your lips to it

The point in telling a story 
Is for someone to listen 
To read 
To run fingers over letters 
And see.

Still, 
I would rather be
Cold 
Hungry 
Then be 
Covered and full with 
Things words could not give me.