quantum mechanics – poems 2 die for

STICK

stick to atoms
it is what
you are good at

how can you
escape being
miniscule
if this
is what
you are?

but
big bang too
your soul
ready to mushroom
in power and
glory up
to Heaven

shimmer of light
and
no one
is home
connection
is fried

but something even
smaller
hard tp pin down
stick (that
word again) a
detailed
label upon

this smaller that you
dissolve into
gives
me a
crazy map
down into your
possible probable
sides

and what binds us
has us
moving, swaying as
one
in the wave dance
of all that is
suspended between

so-called real and
so-called unreal

idea
and its every outcome

we quietly, despite
ourselves working in this

the pieces
finding themselves
in place

chaos
and perfect
symmetry

IN PARTICULAR

I am
a part of everything

we all are
and I am a
small, small
part
you might call
a “particle”

though
like light you
might find

I am
my own duality

this thought washing
through my head

as if
it were a wave.

GARGANTUAN

my room is expanding

I am expanding

everything is expanding
emptying out
taking up space

this, as I checked with my
man De Grasse Tyson

is specified by
the recipe

      prescription has it
                   nailed

(never using the word nail
without conjuring with the obvious)

you must check
it is possible
if infinite time in an
infinite universe

that you might
have misread the message
or not
received it at all

on your lonesome out there
contracting contradictarily
or at least
counterintuitively

heading down to a size
where subatomic gets huge
takes on
features best
described as epic and
gargantuan

this everything notwithstanding
whatever will be

and so we must conclude
that right from the outset
was
huge aspiration

room tearaway expansion
including both
window
and door

and yet, as relayed earlier,
nothing seems to have changed,
all appears stable

world still the case in
its logical ways

as much as is deranged yet
perfectly in range

FIELD

find me in the quantum
vacuum
for if you do not, if
you fail to
then I will find you

will watch as you count your
store of hours, minutes, days
getting spent

blowing kiss after kiss
to blur, to spoil,
cloud that mentality
of linear trajectory

and when the light comes
wave after wave like
warm sea washing over you

know that it is I
who once was something
different entirely

know that it is I
realize it is
me

soft surge of
energies can
cannot be

THINGS

Things crumbling
imperceptibly changing
and not for the better
all about energy and
closed and
open systems

but bear with me
there is dynamic, much afoot
some strange principle here
amongst all these
swirling particles

and yet
they are not particles
They have only the dream of a particle the whim of a field the thought of a spectacle yes bear with me this is going to be my slowest most considered most laborious poem the one that rambles on and on and on doubling back on itself out Wordsworthing Wordsworth

I guess this is the only type of
poetry genuinely left to write

this is my Solaris Mirror Stalker deep
and dark most Tarkowski of poem

oblique, difficult
conceptually
diffuse obtuse suspicious of words that hide what the carry within them

words that are hollow
resonate with the nothing
they bear within

this is me floating Sub-Zero
this is me looking where no one else has looked not knowing what we’ll be found this isn’t me stripped of human company empathising homing in on the suffering of others the pain of others
speaking dreaming the
dark night darkness we all feel the dream that coldly informs us
there will not be
an awakening

in the centre of the labyrinth
where sonething is there for us to
show (not tell) that
consciousness is meaningless consciousness is nothing consciousness is an accident at
the heart
in the nature of things

the broken
fragmented dark energy
anti-matter

frozen violently expansive imploding heart
of things.