Not Your Type

People tolerate people
Most of the time, and they’re proud
Of themselves. You can sense it.

Later, they will tell someone
They trust is part of their group
About someone who wasn’t.

Then they’ll express their disdain,
How much they dislike those sorts,
Wrapping things up piously,

I didn’t say anything.
I was perfectly polite.
I suppose it takes all types.

The Knowing Connection

Sometimes, physicists
Who have to explain
Entangled quanta

In lay terms will say
That the particles
Connected just know,

Somehow, that they are.
If you don’t believe
In causation, this

Isn’t so baffling.
Sure, most changes seem
In some sense direct—

This object moves that,
Through some chain of acts,
Some chain of contacts,

But it’s all spooky action,
Even on billiard tables,
Even artillery fire.

So, sometimes you can’t see it.
Sometimes, it’s at a distance.
Magnetism used to be

Invisible as ether,
Gravity too mystical,
If you asked Galileo.

Eventually you just know
That the magnet has a field,
That gravity warps spacetime,

That subatomic somethings
Must be somehow connected
And you go with it. Physics.

There are things that happen and
There are things that haven’t, yet,
Or won’t. Suss out the patterns,

Map out each if-this-then-this,
Put the much in nothing much,
But you know there’s still nothing.

Any Step-by-Step Procedure

Finiteness. It has to end
At some point. Importantly,
You have to know it will end.

Even then, a really long
Process can be frustrating,
Insufficiently finite.

Definiteness. You might think
This indicates reversal
Of finiteness, in the sense

Defenestrate means tossing
Out the fenestre. But no.
Definiteness just battens

The hatches of finiteness.
Input. Something has to go
Through those definite windows.

Output. Something has to show
At the end of finiteness,
Definitely. And then what?

Effectiveness. Trickier.
If it appears effective,
Is it? Are you finding output

To your liking? Good enough?
Well, you built the procedure.
You think we got the job done?

Caverns in Clouds

The symbol’s superficial
In almost every instance.
Even carved, it’s rarely carved

Deep. Mostly nicks, paint, and ink,
Surface patterns, more or less.
At least until binary

Silicon storage machines.
Now the symbols go deeper
Than splatter in tombs or caves.

Symbol’s inaccessible,
Now, without the right machines.
Symbols belong to machines

As microbes to digestion,
As magnetism to Earth,
Mysterious properties

Operating in the dark,
In the core, setting the terms
For the surface of the world.

Mirrors Aren’t Lenses

No theology
Actually tells you
Much reliable

Or actionable
Information re
The universe, but

Every religion
Speaks volumes about
The way the mind works.

Take all creeds and names
Given faiths and gods,
You could reconstruct

A pretty picture
Both of the species
That created them

And each social group
That encysted them.
But as for the stars

Or the future or
The deep cosmic past,
Don’t ask religion.

The Hand Over

Drag out the first person
Singular pronoun, like
A prisoner who’s been

Locked in solitary
For life. Look at that poor I
Blinking in the daylight,

Trembling, trying to crouch.
Force I to straighten up,
Swaying, feebly trying

To do as demanded,
To take a step forward.
Make that I salute you,

Then hand I the key ring
And walk away chortling.

You Began in the Middle and You’ll End in the Middle of Ongoing Events, Guaranteed

You don’t really expect to live
To the end of the world, do you,
Not even of the human world?

To say nothing of Earth, the Sun,
This particular galaxy.
So what are you really dreading,

Other than having to exit
Yourself, leave the show you just joined,
Miss your children’s existences

Or your grandchildren’s, if any?
Has sorrow ever consumed you
That your great-great-great grandparents

Aren’t around? You’d probably wish
More for a good conversation
With some historical person

You admire who’s no relation.
If you leave scattered descendants,
They’ll suffer and thrive without you,

Likely without thinking of you.
So what is it you want from life,
What are you afraid life might do?

There will be a final human
Or final human descendant
Of some kind, but it won’t be you.