It's not that life has no meaning
or that all society
and philosophy's hollow
I know well enough
that's not true
But I have a hunger to speak
of the deepest things,
yet can't now tell you of any meaning,
or consistent beauties
or anything pleasant and good
It's fucked out there,
fucked to fuck
fucked to the moon
fucked to kingdom come
royally soon
There, it's out of my system,
leaving room for the void:
not positive or negative
not proud or guilty,
just a consciousness self-consciously aware
of mostly darker things
And yet there are beautiful moments
of song and poetry,
brilliant statues
and so colorful assorted flowers
by the side of the road
fucked to fuck
fucked to the moon