The refuse of our insatiable need

We make so much ado about our stuff 

I need that. 

she said 

I want that. 

he said 

I’ll have that.  they said…

Bags and bins in piles of piles and dumpsters and pods and piles and piles and more piles of shit

but in the end it’s all leftovers

 it’s 

all 

junk 

it’s all just stuff

Didn’t realize how much stuff I was collecting when it was all in one place. 

Now, scattered about in different piles in different places I ask 

how much do I really need beyond the clothes on my back and the friends in my life?

As if I could visit the stuff from the formless realm as easily as I could connect with my friends and family. 

More stuff does not mean more life

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