Memories of Seclusion

My right shoe has gone on leave
I'm neither four-footed, nor two

I read Nietzsche in a state of primordial trinity
At night he enters my sleep and says: 
Finally, I get to rub out your moustache!

The phone has gone straight to voicemail for days
Yet again, the bloody landlord!

I scratch my foot with a knitting needle

Nothing good ever came from the right
The left is left
I am weary, so weary,
tired of this tripartate opposition:
right-handedness, left-mindedness, nihilism