Tantrum

I want honey and salt and cheese, I want soft tofu between my toes. I'll have it one way or the other, every which way. In back allies and foyers. In light or darkness I'll have it. Named and unnamed I'd want it. I don't need names nor the consequences between names. I'll take it fast, slow, all the way or somewhere before it is complete. I'll take it before the oven pops it out. In thaw, in winter on the streets and on top of graves. No place can be more sacred or less sacred. I don't care. I want it without time, without counting. It can be sudden or planned. I don't want protection or caution. I want the stranger before I get off on the last stop or the first stranger I meet before coffee and clarity. I want to have what everyone is having. I want what I'm not having. I want what soldiers have on the eve of wars. I want their desperation, and mess. Last suppers and last meals. From the guards and wardens, from the witnesses and priest. I want to mess up my sheets because I want to fail and fall --as long as I'm having some. Anything. It can be as poets would have it, or lovers call it, or foolish spirits believing there's a clue to falling leaves. Spoken for, paid for, stolen, forced, given freely. It may change me completely or leave me as it found me. By blood and ashes. By the curses and promises. I want that sugar drop and lemonade like a bad finger pointing north. I will not go out and look for it. I want it sent to me, in the biggest Tiffany box. White ribbons in bows tied by the sales lady of the universe. I'm not settling for a half-baked half-ass, I want the whole shebang. I won't take no for an answer. I won't take maybe for an answer. I don't want later. I'm going to bawl until I'm heard and kick the shins of heaven to get what I want.