I don't work,
in the usual sense,
and I won't ever
do other's bidding
again, but many do
(*I had not thought
death had undone
so many*) and they
wear me out.
Mornings away,
afternoons home.
In between,
nugatory labors.
It is exhausting
to consider and
makes me want
to take a nap.
I'm weary
in general
and drowsy
in particular
and have
a great notion
to depart this
aeonian hell
of automatons
and hebetude
for some place
where birdsong
and sunlight
and kisses
are work enough.
~mce