And out of nothing awake. A monkey
Can read Nietzsche; he just can't understand
What all the fuss is about. Finally,
I feel part of something. On the one hand,
There is the deal for the making. Other?
I have no soul of my own to trade in.
So many things will lie down in the road.
The moon squats at the end of the morning,
Gibbous, waning, raising white skirts hip high.
What is the meaning of all this? What is
All this fuss about meaning? It's nothing
If I don't expect anyone to take
The time, to waste their time, or to buy time
From me, hanging from crossroads in blue air.