Not Even Once

Sunrise in the corner window, my mind must be wide open because the dreams rushed through me like a streetsweeper, I wake clean. The world is everything all at once, did you notice? I spent hours in the window last night, beating typewriter ribbon against white sheets of paper until they painted entire lifetimes against the sunset. I know there is other work to be done, I know there is capitalism to uphold and these leaning floors do not pay for themselves, but oh, 

I believe we can feed our bodies poetry
and come out sated,
come out full.