Anyone Home? (a poem)

Friday, March 14, 2025

The screech of electrons, halted mid-flight,
quark superpositions, imposed and laid flat,
the phenomena, one pulse to another.

A million mes, all asking the same question of suffering,
branching realities, fractured and reborn fates,
providence always rewriting,
the intelligence, to watch it all unfold.

The string that ended me, the line,
a core memory—
my hand in yours—
hold me, babe, I’m so scared.

A tesseract, infinite,
interstellar library,
dip into the past,
and whisper to father—
don’t go.

The entropy, the shredding of us,
scraped thin by a clock arm,
off with our heads—
the maker knew it would keep ticking.

Are the gods on pins and needles?
Quantum machines, with bioluminescent technology,
the glow and warm hum of them—
black boxes.

Is anyone home?