Poet Wrestling with the Poetics of Unsolvable Physics

By | 1 May 2019

Maybe I am writing this to get you to stop
pursuing me, my little vampire bunny— & maybe

these questions aren’t meant to be
solved. Maybe they are playing

you & me like a fork a little too sharply
tuned. Is the true nature of dark energy.

Being a little off is the right kind
of beacon. For eternity.

Owes everything to lust,

the cruelest kind
of swelling that cannot release {release}

& will always cost
any kind of future
{worth remembering}.

Maybe I am. Writing this for you, my sweet, sweet.
But I’m lost. In a bigger thicket of grit & greed

wanting more of itself, just a second longer? Do you ever think

that’s why you’re always hungry. & those love bites aren’t so
tender. & whatever. Force drives you {to spring upon me}

doesn’t yet exist. It’s
okay. To say well, nothing

would change ::you:: {would still. Love me. } I don’t
mind, the attempts to fertilize immortality.

But does perfect pitch lead anywhere & beyond {closing
a circle
}? Like tying intricate knot without purpose?

But go on. & anyway. Bind my legs & arms in your infinite & immaculate
vampire bunny charms. & gravity of desire. Isn’t an eternal light left alone

in perfection a life gone stale. I’m betting & only on
defects. & kinks. As what moves anything. Forward. No,

it’s not light. Or reaching.
Apex— not the kind of animal
you pretend to reconcile.
I know the living dead are real.

Every time you kill me.
To prove my protons
Are. Fundamentally stable. Talk is cheap.
As it is small. I’d rather take {chance} & get

gnawed. & chewed & chomped
& become delicious & seduced
as. Evolution. Is. Seriously

screwed. Since questions
seek {out} their own

Is that why you bite me {dead},
my little bunny— to turn us
into peculiar

Your quantum features seeking my gravity. & maybe
infinitely cottontail & fangs getting caught on

doorways because dark energy says we shouldn’t?
What multiplies when yet still. I arise from torn fur & nails

digging? Maybe it were. Big Bounce more than. Big Bang.

Maybe dry veins
nibble. & one more night
we’re still bloody peas.
& quarks.
& maybe it’s not important.
To the Theory of Everything,

but even after they come for you,

I keep & keep. Seeing. & everywhere,
my sweet little bloodsucking.
How you appear, suddenly,
on trains

popping out of cat carriers & staring
from screened windowsill.
Is that not you purring

at the diner when they serve you up medium-
rare on gilded plate. Skunned & still
bloody. Steam

from the toothpick they speared
into your twitching,
cold heart
& I tear

onto, my tears like the problem
of {capital T} Theory & my ears
like {capital E} Everything. Is

it all over the moment
one gets just close enough
to what is Ultimate
& Final—

is that when Everything is proven. Fatal. Because such proximity
does not lead to anything more
than little vampire bunnies
who were just as human
as the last question
I will eat from my own
swollen & stained lips.

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