"Work"

Work is related to the spine,

Though I haven’t a clue as to why.

The fearless are your masters,

Taunting you to chase it too

That you must become them,

In order to be worthy

Of what you already have.

When are we?

Can you smell the blood

Of your fallen brethren

Beside you, and hear 

The shots ringing above 

You, in these trenches?

Do you feel the ground shake

With every mortar shell

Crashing around you?

Do the shrieks of death

Plague your ears as you march?

Has Germany yet fallen?

Is the Cold War still cold?

Has another World War yet begun?

Have we learned nothing?

Why do we still chase fear,

In the Land of the Free

And the Home of the Brave?

What work must be done 

To our backs, in order

To live in such prosperity?

What is the purpose 

Of fear?

Anarchy reigns in the underground 

Which hides in plain sight,

Just beyond the veil

Translating thoughts,

Words and actions 

Like a gum ball machine

Accepts pesky coins, and 

Spits out a childish prize

Justifying thievery, adultery

Rape, murder and betrayal 

Betraying all of human nature

Simply for an obtuse cultural anachronism 

What is the nature of

Such schizophrenic principle?

What, I ask, does this

Have to do with work?

Why must you become 

Someone other than 

Who you already are,

To be considered at work?

Must one forfeit all that they are,

In order to work on one’s self?

If you cannot be, 

How can you work?

If you are not meant to exist 

As you are, how do you

Intend to build on quicksand?

What if you are not satisfied 

Chasing, carving, chiseling 

A carbon copy of 

The cookie cutter laid at your feet?

Why this template?

For what reason have

The forces that be

Forced it upon you?

As if blindfolded, by

The very tie you wear

And told that there is

A light, at the end

Of the tunnel you are in

As if you are told 

You cannot remove your new 

Impediment, until you reach it

But have you tried?

Who is to say you are in

A tunnel at all?

Where are we?

Back on the beaches of Normandy, 

Wishing to phone home?

Is Dorothy clicking her heels 

On the yellow brick road?

Can you hear Alice,

Talking to the Mad Hatter?

Are you lying in the arms

Of the one you love,

As she holds you tighter

In the middle of the night

As she kisses you

In her sleep?

Where has she gone?

You may never know 

And if you find her,

You must climb 

Many new walls,

To battle all of the new secrets

She has acquired,

At work.

What are you working for?

Walls, and secrets of your own?

Or are you simply staying afloat

In waters out of your depth?

Chasing, running, hiding selfishness 

Like land mines strewn

Across an open field 

In the dark.

I ask again -

What does work, have to do

With the spine?