Why
do you work
when you’re sick of lifting,
when you’re sick of lifting?
The festivities
left you on the shelf.
Why’re you always trying to please everybody but yourself:
“That which bears witness to it’s own failure” -
are you so sure?
Why
do you work
for the festival
when you’re sick of lifting
spirits,
spirits,
to the sky:
Body and Soul - two words for that same nameless thing
you have never known?
Why
do you work
in place of bearing witness
to your own inclusion,
inclusion,
inclusion…
and strike!?!!
Strike!!!