People are bodies walking around,
just another thing, sacks of blood,
nerves, hormones. See them driving,
their hunched skeletons leaning too far
or too little over the wheel that turns
them into whatever driveways
and parkways they are destined towards.
Bodies going one place or another.
All in the name of making a name
for your body. A body, that's it, stripped
of all ego and mind and heart,
a machine for passing on DNA.
Bodies, no more than squirrels looking for nuts.
No more than sharks looking for meat.
No more than dogs looking for a tree.
People don't introduce themselves
and say, "I'm a body," they say
"I'm lawyer, or doctor, or salesman."
When young people get burned down
about jobs and the state of the world,
what they need to think about
is what does a body need?
Food? Air? Another body to love?
Down to its bare wires the machine
seems too simple, too perfect, except
when you are burned down about jobs
or the world. Take the president,
he's a body, he's a smoker,
and needs more air than you,
and if you can think of that instead
of how rotten the market is,
or the world, then maybe
you got a chance. Breathe, eat,
love the body you have chosen
to love. Dance, if you aren't sad
about the state of the world. Drink
and fill your body with water.
There will be plenty to worry about.
