Since I am a totality of things I was to grow out of
alien child staring at dust in light shaft of Venetian blind
inchoate drummer with wooden spoon on frying pan
since I issue quivering responses to grown up questions
shot with laser precision from the weapons of civil decorum
since I fixate on walking histories in the streets
some destined to stand with me in obstructing injustice
then I know whom I am to greet with grace
and whom with attention deficit
on what side of the universe
did science get out of bed this morning?
was it in the closed shop of singularity theme park science
where time is invited to celebrate
the bursting of the great piñata
of cosmic matinee?
or did it roll out of the sack into a sink hole of dark matter
like Karo over waffles only to be devoured
by a detachment of concerned scientists?
trouble is cosmology is the stuff of shifting moods
the moods of Perseus Orion and Apollo,
that uncertain mood which invents the certainty of god
a man of old sold all his gold for a centerfold
and was delivered fine just in time by a thin dime’s worth of rhyme
capable of making any short story long
even the song of creation.