Commodious

Why is it that
empty spaces are so huge?
Why is it that
they are never big enough?
Why is it that
the stuff we want to infuse
Is so filling
leaving us so over-stuffed?

Why is it that
we can never satisfy?
Why is it that
our craving is such a bluff?
Why is it that
we believe most our own lies?
Are we really
aiming to live lives of fluff?

We want more room
to cram with collection slot.
We turn our lives
into a giant chamber pot.

Poetry Scales 165