Famished Host Page

The Famished Host

In every one I meet
On street or chance to greet
The raised arched pointed brow
Speaks too, I know, somehow.

What range of distance stand
Is wrote in air freehand
In language all can read
Without a moments heed.

Now there are some, but few
Who break this line in view
And say they never knew
That they invaded you.

Somehow our psyche knows
And sees through all shadows
The one that fools us most
Ourselves, the famished host.
© 6 February 1983 Audrie Inise Shively Rogers