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  • Writer's pictureToby Gordon

The Modern Body

The modern body sits.

With feet ungrounded and crossed,

the knuckles of toes are red and flat, 

pressed to the cold waxy flooring

as blood pools under our skin.

A spa for disease to swim and grow.


Ankles once slim and curved,

A mountain range of Achilles and joints,

now dammed. 

The steady stream of circulation meets an end.

Slowly, the curvature dissipates.

Now cemented in a resin of blood and fat and flesh,

our ankles turn to cylindrical 

clogs.

And the modern body sits on.


Sits bones to spine,

We are curved.

coccyx bones, sacrum, lumbar, thoracic, and cervical,

each hanging further over its predecessor 

making a curved line.

A slope on a graph like those in a maths textbook.

However the slope does not result from ⅔ or ⅙, 

the cause is the continual pursuit of dopamine from a screen 

paired with no sense of self-respect.


Where the spine leads into the neck,

we resemble the underside of a kitchen sink.

Pipes and curves and all,

our necks dipping then arching up

to support a greedy head.

Numb to the discomfort,

The modern body sits on.


Our chin hangs low, level with our collarbones

as if a delicate string is pulling our heads down,

a minuscule tug that embarrassingly 

our weak bodies cannot combat.


We sit on.

The mouth drapes,

muscles of the face are depleted.

The modern body yields at a task as fundamental as chewing.

We draw inspiration from a newborn, yearning for the 

soft and wet and sweet slithering of mud-like solutions down our throat,

seeking to pleasure the tastebuds. 

All the while the gut groans with unease.


Eyes unblinking and fixated.

Retinas rebuke but are unheard.

Ceaseless consumption through the senses hinders

oneself from hearing the desperation of the body's receptors. 


And then one wonders,

why can’t I think how I used to?

We fail to realize we are the cause of this

coagulation of consciousness.

Our skull is the metal bowl of a standing mixer

Our brain is cream.

We let the world,

without question, 

churn our minds into butter.

Cognitive control drips away unnoticed.

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