After Receiving Caribou Hardback

You and I can not help but grow
If my belly is not growing fat-like
Then my wallet is growing buddha-like
Or my ideas take on weight
Else my name grows like Jabba-the-Hutt's pedestal

I'm a tree and can only store sappy ideas.
Seven years saved up after seven years to
Replace seven unwanted famines, It is predictable.

Unless one is a space cadet watching worlds turn,
One never knows when one has nothing and wants less.
For it is our destiny to grow fat and grow tired of bending.
Some just like to get there a little early
And others are willfully ignorant.
While others groom it, adding twelve ounces around the belly
Six ounces around the thighs, an ounce to their fist

Buddha went all out, and parlayed with death
So that his ears, too, grew fat.
And Jabba, he spread that shit around like he was sexy.
But both Jabba and Buddha dwell in the darkness
That reaps the silence of unused light.

But at least Buddha could have walked away, and walked it off
Which he eventually attempted, but never made it home.
His kingdom met him half-way, and the starving artist died
Then and there after a great banquet in the hills, outside.
While Jabba died a movie-star.