They’ve Already Given Out All the Awards for Participation

Break through your veils of lawn—
The gauze of medicine
On the gauze of sickness

Have muffled what’s left you—
To feel that you’re still here,
That there’s something to do,

Requires that you forget,
Can’t be bothered to care
That there’s something to do.

The ten small things at once
That you should be doing
Will leave you, all undone,

Unless you find a way
To completely resist
Any doing of them.