Mr. Nothing watched the poet tinkering with a typewriter
and Platocrates weighing white and black pebbles in his hands
while looking thoughtfully at a large clay jar standing in front
of him. And since he himself, more out of habit than necessity,
read lines full of foreign-sounding names and events that meant
nothing any more, he suddenly felt as if they were strange triplets
from an incongruous nest. He would have used the word “weirdo”
before, but after learning of its negative connotation, he settled
for “just another man.”
hidden pilcrow 