mr hawking

some thin great small hand?
or naught some wind or heart the
finish of all things?
deep space black hole node of time stopped by mere gravity

the click and tick of time slowing, bird flack on the back of nettle and seed
a noiselesss quantum point smaller than a universe
a clown god having no purpose and no meaning other than
the meaning of itself?
oh so terrible a truth mr hawking says

and if it true then the evolution of a whales belly
as singlemost hand and bone and jaw-bone itself the bible
breaks
as if all were a childs toy only the whole thing lifting like a log falling over
some floody wall of water

down. down and more down until the word itself is left unspeakable
hitting a never of trees and never of air blue as sky
a final and blown thing burst into a nothingness
of atoms, quarks and strings of sudden disappearence

ho climb thee out of sight?
into what tree will we come to a forest of green dream  
to?
to and to again for it is all a present moment as if
and as if, the cognazant synapse is it all there is?

no, the soul cannot accept its part
in scheme of days and breakfast thoughts
no says will, no says all there is to be, this
to be a manunkind prescience of

something more. something must be
more...

Reviews

[SkinlessFrank]

A bit heart-braking this write....but I feel where you are coming from....the soul tells us there must be more, but the intellect says, "Nope, sorry son".