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?!
