Flies gathered around its tiny body,

Its feet turned toward the sky

As if preparing to continue the

Never-ending rat race among the clouds.

People walk past and turn up their noses.

The only good rat is a

Dead rat, but why?

They exist just like us, their little hearts

Pumping just as fast as ours.

They scurry from place to place, ducking between

Giant meta...

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Why can't we find a place

Where no rats are in the race

Where only idle things prevail

Where, together, we could sail

Upstream from all the madness

So far from all the sadness 

Serenely would it lead

To a place where we are freed

To be as naked as at birth

Just us and Mother Earth

There, we'll dig ourselves a hole

And bury deep our sou...

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Written on June 1st 2011 as an assignment based on the Calendar, set by John Cassidy for Bank Street Writers, Bolton.

O God of Sun, on Sunnandaeg,

I worship thee with spray -on bronze,

Because thy workload is quite big,

There’ll be a lot of wet week-ends.

God of the Moon, on Monandaeg,

I offer thee my hangover,

Last night I was a lunatic,

Oh I am deep...

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