Lazy, the savannahs bade us be

Or: A for-once serious apocalypse

I paint myself a feeble man—
I am able as a horse
to buck among the hands—
the monologue I’ll share
to coffin-walls goes thus:
I worked! I pitied us
and every man who in himself
saw a hard machination,
or bore in him the nation:
I worked! I wove my atoms
around themselves continuous
as engines—sour flesh
when the muffler goes—
sore folk! How our backs
broke and then our brains:
each of us is visible
in our deeps and downs,
and none of us the wiser—
to toil! How immobile,
then, as unfit scholars
weave theologies years hence—
they’ll burn money in the dark
when wolves encroach in hide
of man and circle up the park—
economy invented man
and then suppressed him soon—
what doom in the thinking of it
and amusement by the fire!

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~ by Jeremy on June 9, 2013.

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