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… ”

continued here

.

— Paul Randall, poet, Texas yammerer.  Excerpt from the Starfish Sutra poem Veterans of the Big Bang