Boustrophedon in the daily
Fight against nihilism, which
Means something like, fight against those
Who don’t care or are against us,
Fight against despair in ourselves,
One senses the tics, the waved hand,
The cleared throat, the alternation
Between the intently held gaze
And the sudden looks off, away,
Into space. An animal knows
How to communicate, but text,
Words abandoned, orphaned, alone,
Obviously struggle. Nothing
Is not nothingism. Nothing
Is not nihilism, poor child,
An understanding it can’t say.
It’s terrifying, then, to note
That all of history and most
Of storytelling’s just what’s left
Once the animal’s left the shell.
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