Star-people spinning through the universe: (edit 1)

Take the super strings strung (not “up” like a failed god

but dangling, decorating the universe in a strange manner)

through the darkest of spread matter (what knife, what hand,

what majestic intent covered the cosmic bread with the dark butter?)

mysteriously strumming with tunes none of us understand,

though we dance, marionettes on the playground’s stage.

Test the theory that if a hand moves up and down

(like a cello player’s fingers plucking the cosmic jazz)

the sounds are dimensions of possible outcomes

meaning mistakes happened once and once they didn’t

or they did differently or they weren’t mistakes at all.

Next, take the quantum leaps – the vaulting fields

that are waves that are particles that aren’t even there

just a potential or a probability and probably

when I look here something else happens there

and when I look there I have no idea of what happened here.

(As for the cat; who is counting that purring time bomb

of an infinite number of only one life?)

With all this going on and we star-men and women

brimming with the need of each other (if only

so we can revisit all the things we wished we weren’t) is it

any wonder we all choose to travel into the wild dark wonder

where stars blink our names and we have nemesis time to defeat

before we ourselves are irrevocably defeated (monsters rejected

by unseen, unheard creators already off plundering

new experiments in dimensions forever closed to us?)

(And really, thinking about it, we are just

that damn cat anyway, a pet caged and forgotten.)

And for those that believe

we’re all waiting for Cosmic God to cast His baleful eye

our way (or is it the damning universal devil

that flips the lid, delivers judgment upon us)

truth is, the strings can make order out of chaos

but only for the fleetest of moments

before the next chaos comes casually along

and firmly plants us in the middle of it all –

a singularity of impossible, giddying movement

as if we all ride wild stallion rocket ships

through the wastelands of space, managing

(every so often) to discover new, innovative ways

of smashing our tiny tin cans into each other,

thus ending, or starting ,what had just begun

or inversely, finished (the Flintstones cat

put out and brought in at the same time).