Makes no sense. Wears pants.
"Skepticism is the chastity
Of the intellect, and it is shameful
To surrender it too soon." Pretend
That any animal remains a mensch
When the animal's pulse is wrenched
By naked embarrassments. The hand,
So delicate, so used to all kinds of tools,
Fumbles at the entrance of the real.
You rub up hard against the raw world,
Wanting the miracle, the meaning cooked
Up out of nothing more than the want.
Miserable, darling medium-sized ape
Hunkered down in a shadow, hoping
To be or not to be caught unseen.
Want cover you cannot recover.
Other mammals must musth or musk.
You mist or miss. Muss your misplaced mane
Of extravagant hair against some naked skin.
What you wanted was some idea of what
Was want, once done come and gone again.