Skinless
Writhing in pain,
the muscles of the Earth
contort
under the weight
of avarice.
‘Don’t poke a hole in it,’
they think,
lest it should end up
worthless,
like the gazelle,
like the rabbit,
like poor folk
skinned alive.
‘Hit it in the head,
render it confused,
let it squeal in terror
as it stains the cosmos!’
The Earth cries,
tossing and turning.
Behold the spasms
that repay their worth!