Scavenger Here in the apocalypse I waste nothing: paper put to use as paper, kindling, bedding; pens put to use as pens, hairpins, picks, chisels. Nothing without three or more uses--a plethora of lives to support my own. Here in the apocalypse I make my house in ruin, turn underground tunnels to roadways, improvise technology and systems of technology--the wreckage of the old recast in the shape of my necessity. Once I tore down mountains, laid forests low for my muse, left waste wherever it fell. The land was sick of me long before I was sick of it. But there was no need for caution then. I had plenty, and cared to waste. Now hollow cities stand as monuments to my disaster--now all is rubble, and now I reuse.
Comments: Written sometime in 2006 or early 2007, I believe. Not much else to say.