The Natural Poverty of Our Feeble and Mortal Condition

The past is dead A corpse cannibalized by the present To be regurgitated in fear and greed In endless justification and apologetics Human agency and its offshoots The years grind jumbled and broken Regret, nostalgia, grief-at-nothing Grief and sleep, combined, enchaining Care itself, in its very essence, Is permeated with nullity through and through