Selfish Delight

I am an empty vessel, waitng to be filled.
A bottle adrift on the tide, whose contents were set free.
A drooping box the rain has soaked alone beside a road.
A lost left sock wrapped in dust, forgotten behind a dresser.
An old coke bottle of dim green glass buried in the yard. 
A shattered crock from long ago heaped in a pile of stones.
A casing brass, fired, once upon a war.
AN old worn tire in a ditch filled with a mosquito breeding hoard.
A dirty bottle filled with piss in a homeless nighttime hideaway. 
A magazine of faded porn, all thumbed marred and grimey pages.
A sticky plastic wrapping from some greasy sugary slop, which in the night a city rat did chew and lick and chomp.
The smell that waffs up from the drains in the heat of a summer morning.
What love is this...?
A selffish delight, that is, as mans design.
Where we've left the worst parts of our needs, to decorate the world.