Begetting all that’s gotten
How’s it got to feel so rotten?
Is this merely a game to play
Chance to take all one may?
For all there is, there’s more
Objects of myth galore
Thorough, intense, near infinite pleasure
If all one can do is measure
Why the great lust for things?
The grace it doesn’t bring?
All becoming more, yet less
A treasure losing treasure chest
Perhaps I’ll sell myself
And buy another