Of Unknown Origin

We are cursed by this
Unfortunate dearth
Of meaninglessness.

Of course, we contrived the curse,
Pronounced the curse, invented
The very idea

Of curses. Curses
Are anything but
Meaningless, which means this curse

Is part of this curse.
We find fewer and fewer
Moments to listen,

When we are forced to listen
To the lack of anything
The day has to say.

Signs and voices everywhere,
Every moment assail us.
The world’s not too much with us.

The world barely touches us.
Thousands of generations
Ago, ancestors vanished

Into this ecosystem
Of meaning, other humans.
But now we’re so encysted,

We’re not merely dependent
On meaning, we’re lost in it
With no metabolism

Outside of it, obligate
Mitochondria,
Carried along by our host.

Just once in a while,
We get a glimpse, just a hint
Of the inhuman,

The bare sense of pointlessness,
Some sweet hour without meaning,
And it bores and frightens us.