Friday, June 6, 2014

POEM: "The Fool's Vernacular"

The Fool's Vernacular

We might find this evidence for ourselves
If there should ever be galaxies without stars
Preemptive pockets with only dark matter
And would you sigh for the big long press of it
To think for a time around the infinite clouds
And consider who or what had it plundered?

Anti-matter, anti-meaning, irrecoverable
Knowing where or why you’re not, in parallel
Multiverses bubbling like busted washing machines
Sure, you’ll be missing that, and the laundry too
Eleven different dimensions, but you’re dreaming
If you think any dark matter will be missing you

There was a time string theory was the theory of string
When you pulled hard it almost stretched the distance
Hell, we know everything complains it's being pulled
A million light-years later radio telescopes still stretch
Deep theories of empty space, of yours, of hers, of mine
Dark energies indeed, when we’re in a dark time alone

Poetry provokes what science takes time proving

In the aberrant darkness of our star-lit days, when
Poor buggers scan the moonlight for enough light to see
The thought keeps dropping on us like parallel coconuts
After we read about it and talk about it and write about it
Yes, it was always pretty much like we suspected.

© 2005/2014 Rob Schackne

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