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needles needling needlessly with little thread... or much of anything else...

(foolish dribbles to be written at uncertain times, on an irregular basis, from uncertain sections of the ever expending universe, and from whatever dimension I-We-Us-Them might find ourselves/ myself in …)

Thursday, February 10, 2005

THE WORKHORSE 


I am a workhorse. I plow the fields of others. I do not know them though I have seen them in their castle. Sometimes, when they ride in their fancy horse buggies by the field which I am plowing, they stop and push away the curtains with their clean hands, and they look at me. I look at them. They smile at me. I smile at them. They can evict me from this land with merely a movement of their hand. I could poison their fields and the food which they reap. They mistake my smile for contentment. I mistake theirs for gratitude. We are both fools in our own right.
Posted by: François Pointeau / 09:44
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