Let's workshop this poem that juxtaposes the stark alienation of modernity with primal communal experiences, illuminating the profound human need for connection
Etched in Bone Like Orgasm Toe Curling
Loneliness cures
we do not know, crooked
in carapaces of concrete
efficiencies, we are
missing—to find them:
contemplate how long
we spent squatting
in huddles near fire
and scribbling in soot
and dancing under moon
drums, endorphined
by child laughter.
“We need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.”—Kafka (against the safe-space cancel culture pushed by anti-art bullies, left and right)