to survive is to find some meaning
in the suffering"
-f.n. it's three thirty in the mourning, and the distant wolves
who like to serenade huddles of drowsy juniper trees
are getting well beyond good and evil,
and my earplugs are just beyond hope
of reaching with a mechanical hand
that spends its days writing
books as dry as august in the atacama.
how do i really feel?
my soul is broken
apart;
my body seems as if
it cannot hold
the beating of a heart.
my whole world right now
feels like a pointless dart;
i believe in everything
meaning completely nothing;
i don't take philosophy to task
because the students never ask;
and, i forget to hold
the social sciences accountable
because there is no need
to believe in something
insurmountable.
