The Avant-Garde of the Post-Work Movement

I’ve given up watching corporate news masquerading as informed consent.
I’ve given up submitting my carbon for review.
I’ve given up pretending the past is an undiscovered country of multitudes still waiting to be recreated in my synapses.

I’ve given up eating any foods that are not completely processed because I believe in recycling.
I’ve given up any kind of health regimen except the accepted wisdom of alcohol.
I’ve given up fingernail clippings that someone could have used for their conceptual art.

I’ve given up pretending there’s an overarching grand narrative to the universe that justifies poetry prize submission fees.
I’ve given up my advanced degrees because most of my fever infections are impervious to antibiotics.
I’ve given up waiting for extraterrestrials to prove the existence of intelligent life on earth.

I’ve given up all semblance of a career maybe it’s the looking for the job.
I’ve given up music guitar chords are too hard to finger.
I’ve given up finding meaning in an inherently meaningless fashion.

I’ve given up talking now there’s nothing left to do but speak.