I’m grateful for sabbaticals.

We’re not immortal, not pneumatic worker ants;
But it’s the world; nobody owes you a living.
We thought we conquered the wild, but no.
We took the unfairness of survival
The coldness of natural cruelty
The calculated manipulation
The brutality of cave-dinner hunts
And all those raw-meat emotions:
Fear, helplessness, insecurity…
And we wrapped them in pants-suits
And we baptised them with unholy hours
And we sat them at cursed tables
Imbued with the power to buy and sell.
It’s all so much effort, you see;
And while we weren’t looking
While we were consuming…
The fire in our bellies died.
We lost the fire to electric stoves
And mills that run on human misery.


This is for Thursday, 15 May 2014.

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