A Critique Of Life, The Universe, And Nothing Poem by Nathan Coppedge

I don't feel good. That's a problem.

Critical theories are still a lot better than what my relatives offer.

I could have company that I enjoy. I could have money. Basic categories are not working.

Step two would be extended value, I know something will ruin my mood.

Then the power becomes arbitrary. Health is faltering.

Where is my potentum?

Where is the reasonable agendum?

What is the psychological cure?

What studies have allure?

The power of the world appears to abate.

Hither hurries fate.

The measureless crafts a bad name.

The good people go insane.

The fortune is turning bad.

The meaningless are glad.

What peril would be right?

The future could be bright!

The lesson is not Zen.

How can I say amen?