The Ticking, Linear

Nothing is certain

She said to Uncertainty

At the very grip of change

Even she, could not swallow

 

The precipice of time

After all, she was born of it

Nothing physical could escape

No architect could undo

 

The mortality principle

Nothing is certain she believed

But uncertainty, said her faith

That sought for a lifetime

 

To Problem-Solve

As far as she could the dilemma

Of the pursuit of predictability

This was that, and

 

It was the final straw

How the vagueness comes

Over, a bit over everything

As some indispensable lighthouse

 

Of meaning and longing

Which equated in the end

To emptiness and recycling

Nothing is certain, she knew

 

But a kind of species-repetition

And the mumble in the ocean

That rumored of progress

Between an idleness of Corruption

 

She saw it everywhere

In rigged elections in Russia

In unemployment in the States

And most certainly

 

In the foghorn nodding

Of European alliances, going bankrupt.