“Dig in the garden with the other omnivores,
and get me some lightening, not too ripe.”

i stumble out the door with my fingers and toes
arcing against the cold metal earth.
i wear rags with Armani scrawls;
barely enough to shield my skin from the chilling heavens.

we chew out the roots of nearby trees,
moist as ***** and tough as tendon.
we gnaw and gnaw but spit out only steel
and breathe in only soot.

shrapnel finds its way beneath my fingernails, and i wince.
it's not a new Pain, but a repeated one we’re told to relish.
“When splintered, push them in and
sing a song about It.” and we do.
though the melodies vary, the lyrics say the same thing:
it Hurts to Hurt ourselves, but not enough to stop.

i sigh and sit;
are we really expected to find this lightening,
or is this just unconscious hunt She wanted to put us on?
whichever way, whichever way,
you’ll be fed at the end of the day, i instinctively hum,
as i resume ripping through petroleum roots.