It feels like a balancing act, but it isn’t,
To comprehend change and continuity
Through the absurd means of lyric poetry,
Or something like lyric poetry, mostly
Non-narrative, unscientific, non-dramatic
Nonsense, a bibliotheca abscondita of ideas,
A mirrored funhouse cabinet of curiosities,
The glittering coils of Leviathan turning
And sliding past each other on the dark nest.
You can only hope the monster is dreaming.
It’s true nothing simply collapses, but claims
We love, that it’s all perfectly homeostatic,
Strongly anthropic, just the way we want it,
Explain nothing much about how it changes,
How anything remains the same in change.
You have to sneak up on Leviathan sleeping.
You have to embrace the endless shifting.
The scales of the cosmos are not the toys
We make. They shine on the dragon’s back.
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