You collect random words at the end of junk mail,
old cars, reports of political devastation,
unkissed kisses, certain phrases of mine.
I collect imagination, and patterned shirts.
I collect bitternesses and try
to cook them into devil's food cakes
for my afternoon tea on Sundays.
My roomate collects chords, and stars.
My friend collects heartlessness and adoration,
in the form of saintly women
who do not seem to see all he's worth.

Something eludes us all,
that we must have and have and have.

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