By Simon Pindel

It’s a tough old resolution – labour.

It pierces through the skin

Makes an incision in your spine

And rectifies the soul


Now seen with leathery hands

And foot soles like bark

They show how much I’ve aged

In the last two months

No longer edging the line

Between responsibility and apathy

But shunning it




Let the soap slip under your nails

You’ll feel them cleaner.

Wipe each plate until you can see in it where you are:

There is no room for uncertainty now

This is your set path

The crux of your time here

Live or die

Eat or sleep rough

There’s no time for indulgence

Roll up each spool of nerves and throw it away

There’s plenty more where that came from


The sun shines high no longer

The groundhog days are nearly over

My hours have long enough been measured in cups of shit coffee

— Inhale, sip, swallow, cringe

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