Roy, 5 december 2011
This should be a labour of love
Collating my words from the frankly absurds
To the shining like heavens above.
This should be a joy and a pleasure.
Recalling old lovers from under their covers
Post coital reflection at leisure.
Those poems belong in a book.
The lingering thoughts of the tens and the noughts
So others can finger and look.
My lovers are fewer than most.
And though they inspired, they’re better retired,
For what is a book but a boast?
Roy, 15 january 2012
The physicist scratches his head
at the separate items connected instead
but the long and the short and the quick and the dead
is that history suddenly matters.
Some particles carry no weight
but may stay entangled, determining fate
for the quick and the dead and the early and late -
so the universe suddenly shatters.
To a naked observer some distance away
the particles haven’t yet parted.
Objectively, therefore, the particles stay
in the singular place where they started.
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