Belief Can’t Ever Cohere

Because everything has meaning

And nothing is possible. Not

Always at just this moment, no.

At this moment, mostly, nothing

Much, the garden variety

Nihilism of night soil mulch.

But pitch nothing is possible,

Is the lost face of gravity

That hides in the lights in the dark,

That makes everything and meaning,

Including our many beliefs.

It tugs us like iron filings

Into teams of dark righteousness

That line up and dance grotesquely,

And are clear and are beautiful

And whisper in our longing ears,

Your stomachs lurch, and you feel

The visceral certainty

Of what’s wrong. And you belong.