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The Quanta of Time

The quanta of time slip by, a profusion of solitudes,

Their legendary brevity challenging would-be observers.

Deniers outnumber believers in this mixed-up world,

Where gremlins skip through gaps in time,

Souring milk, stealing socks, and spoiling meat.

They're building a sock golem bigger than T. rex,

It's lumbering toward Bethlehem, “Live”

Sewn into its corduroy brow,

Each step a tock between the ticks we know,

Each in-drawn breath an entropic wind,

Peeling paint off galactic hearts,

Each exhalation a disintegrating blast,

Burning subatomic bonds

In an unrelenting flame.

If a creator made this thing, this world,

What the hell was s/he thinking?!