Extra Password XXXI

 

XXXI. on a certain practical uncertainty

it’s owing to Heisenberg uncertainty
not mine that you cannot find me here
tricked into things, waving on a slow
warm motion in my Brownian chamber
after some bleached curve of a laser
a light razor swooping from dichroic
mirrors, damping down across thick
mazes of quarks and strings which scale
down the world, diminish the hope
of a real birth-gap and death – it’s that way
things vanish behind themselves, got muted
endlessly pleated on their side to the still
end-station in what remains of time