Monday, 27 March 2017

Star-people spinning through the universe: (edit 1)

Take the super strings strung (not “up” like a failed god
but dangling, decorating the universe in a strange manner)
through the darkest of spread matter (what knife, what hand,
what majestic intent covered the cosmic bread with the dark butter?)
mysteriously strumming with tunes none of us understand,
though we dance, marionettes on the playground’s stage.

Test the theory that if a hand moves up and down
(like a cello player’s fingers plucking the cosmic jazz)
the sounds are dimensions of possible outcomes
meaning mistakes happened once and once they didn’t
or they did differently or they weren’t mistakes at all.

Next, take the quantum leaps – the vaulting fields
that are waves that are particles that aren’t even there
just a potential or a probability and probably
when I look here something else happens there
and when I look there I have no idea of what happened here.
(As for the cat; who is counting that purring time bomb
of an infinite number of only one life?)

With all this going on and we star-men and women
brimming with the need of each other (if only
so we can revisit all the things we wished we weren’t) is it
any wonder we all choose to travel into the wild dark wonder
where stars blink our names and we have nemesis time to defeat
before we ourselves are irrevocably defeated (monsters rejected
by unseen, unheard creators already off plundering
new experiments in dimensions forever closed to us?)

(And really, thinking about it, we are just
that damn cat anyway, a pet caged and forgotten.)

And for those that believe
we’re all waiting for Cosmic God to cast His baleful eye
our way (or is it the damning universal devil
that flips the lid, delivers judgment upon us)
truth is, the strings can make order out of chaos
but only for the fleetest of moments
before the next chaos comes casually along
and firmly plants us in the middle of it all –
a singularity of impossible, giddying movement
as if we all ride wild stallion rocket ships
through the wastelands of space, managing
(every so often) to discover new, innovative ways
of smashing our tiny tin cans into each other,
thus ending, or starting ,what had just begun
or inversely, finished (the Flintstones cat
put out and brought in at the same time).

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