There's Not Enough Philosophers to Go Around

Gods and nonsense come in threes:
Blah, blah, blah, the Trinity.
Monsters have three heads, like me:
One for hunger, one for love,
One for pain. Below, above
Hint we're in the middle of
A closed, tripartite shell game.

We're not, although it's a shame
That what's easy for our brains
Vanishes on inspection.
We snap back from correction,
Redirect our attention,
And find fresh mythologies
In games, etymologies,

Glorious doxologies
To our own ideas spinning
Brain to brain, within the thing
That dreams only beginning,
Middle, end, again. What's right
Feels wrong. Afraid of real night,
We enumerate our frights.