Flesh and Blood Home

“Every [person] is the builder of a temple, called [their] body, to the god [they] worships, after a style purely [their] own, nor can [they] get off by hammering marble instead. We are all sculptors and painters, and our material is our own flesh and blood and bones. Any nobleness begins at once to refine a [person’s] features, any meanness or sensuality to imbrute them.” – Henry David Thoreau, in Walden

I need flesh and blood

Wrapped around my bones

Pulling me into it

Instead of this robotic shell

That echoes a metallic ting

Crying out in angry pain

Whenever a stone strikes it

I need to breathe

Pulling deep, saturating my lungs

Invisibly particle free air

Unpolluted by rational

Self-interested wealth-maximization

Oxygenating my rushing blood

With impassioned hope

I need a mind filled with heart

And a heart filled with mind

Compassion and reason

Perfectly intertwined

In willful un-ignorance

A self-reflective transposition

Of world-reflective thought

I need a home

Where nightmares dare not tread

Where I can wrap and warm my

Metal-free flesh in safety

Replenish my hope and blood

And ease my heart and mind to sleep

Comforted in having no conception of “alone”

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