“the knuckle-atoms will not
commingle with the drywall-atoms”
scribbles the physicist in his
notes, pen gripped in a trembling
bleeding hand, chalky white dust
settling all over the lab
at the sub-atomic level everything
seems soft and fuzzy, uncommitted
to being, a penciled-in existence
but there’s a hardness to atoms
that makes you think they’ve
been through bad times, and
came out of it prepared
for the worst, unwilling anymore
to take shit off of anyone
mending their hearts, rectifying
the trauma, suffering PTSD from
their role in the Big Bang, and now
futilely adjusting, after all this time
to the hum-drum work-a-day life
of simply appearing solid
If there is a “Smaller” Hadron Collider on WordPress it’s you. Like those agitated atoms, your words keep expanding the prescribed universe. Thank you for sharing with us. May you continue gifting us in 2018. – Douglas
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Thank you Douglas, that’s about the nicest thing anybody ever said to me. Happy New Year!
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I’m glad I could, in some small way, express how (if limited to few words) delightful and transformative your work feels to me. Happy NY to you Paul.
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Oh, this poem is truly wonderful! I love the idea of atoms suffering PTSD after the Big Bang.
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Well, thanks very much! Poor little guys. Nobody cares what they go through.
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I enjoyed this a great deal. I too love the way you speak up for atoms – that’s fun! – but especially the conclusion that they must keep up the appearance of being solid!
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Thanks John! The illusion of solidity is a real hang-up with me 🙂
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