the sum of our
everyday actions, or
is there more—by which
I mean
less? I mean:
is our whole purpose
just those behaviors
which we repeat
without thinking
like automatic
crying, or some
nest-building instinct? Or
is it better expressed
the other way around:
those tics, fits,
and movements
ordained to us
by elsewhere—
by a past whose
unwanted touch
we all share, but which
still is no more real to us
than the worst shit
on Netflix—are those
our blessed and
mandated missions?
Shall they choose
our occupations?
Comprise our
life's work?
