am i
enjoying
my work?
can i
be mad at
capitalism, even whilst i
enjoy my
work?
the questions of the ages of this late stage implosion
am i
enjoying
my work?
can i
be mad at
capitalism, even whilst i
enjoy my
work?
the questions of the ages of this late stage implosion
it was actually fairly nice
yesterday —
working on a big poem
between rest
and embroidery
and silly television feeds
to make us feel
not quite 100% of the sadness we feel
daily —
there is something to be said for
working hard
on something,
and i did that,
i can do that.
[maybe i am an adult after all]
one more
[nap]
one more
[poem]
one more
[cat pat]
one more
[stretch]
one more
[snack]
one more
[chat]
one more
[quick break]
[before i work]
[on a sunday]
to warm up with the poetry
as i [try to do] every morning
or to stare blankly at a phone
scrolling and scrolling and scrolling
until half the day has gone by?
i believe this choice speaks for itself
(on the days when my executive functioning allows)
to warm up with the poetry
as it flows and flows and flows
or to work a bit
get things quickly done
feeling even more productive before 9am
than i usually feel by 10pm
this choice is a little harder
but i do have habit backing up a decision for the former
to warm up with the poetry
that speaks of itself in loose verse–
meta-poeting all over the computer screen
as i contemplate any other option here
in this early may morning
i see this choice has been made for me
to rest
or to rest
or to rest
or to chore
or to work
(it wouldn’t be the question
had we rested yesterday
but the house
and the march
were well worth it.)