The more I think about losing weight, The more I pile upon my plate. The more I look in the mirror and see, The more depressed I get about me. I’ve tried all the diet’s that you can name, It’s just that I hate the starvation pain. I wish I had the will-power to fight, Instead of eating night after night. I’d like to lose quite a few stone, Start to exercise and begin to tone, I’d like to have the perfect figure, Instead of feeling bigger and bigger. they tell us to eat smaller quantities. instead of a hoard. But I know I eat because I’m bored. I’m going to try and try again It’s just that I hate the starvation pain.
All men. Or shall we say, not chauvinistic, all people, it is all people? Beasts manure the ground, nibble to promote growth; but man, the consumer, swallows like the god of mythology his own kind. Beasts walk among birds and never do the birds scare; but the human, that alienating shadow with the Bible under the one arm and under the other the bomb, as often drawn as he is repelled by the stranger waiting for him in the mirror – how can he return home when his gaze forages beyond the stars? Pity him, then, this winged god, rupturer of gravity's control accelerating on and outward in the afterglow of a receding laughter?
by R. S. Thomas from No Truce With The Furies (1995)