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