Postcard 161

 

There is a boundless wave here fleeing the bland catastrophe of origin
There is a mad hustle ahead of a spectacular frothing of death
and even the smallest success -- there are none great -- melts quickly back to death
This is life out here at the far points of matter that seems to cry
'Make me more and more' with an urge boundless in pain boundless in despair
Though cast off like isotopes the wave persists and matter builds
and builds and each mutation is a doomed crap shoot
But nature rolls a billion times and rolls a billion more,
a boundless roll of losing dice. Life at the far point pushes its luck
and matter builds and organizes, almost meaninglessly successful
out ahead of the wave, each success games the odds
Of a trillion particles but one is part of this, but man does it run with it
'Make me more and more!' There is a boundless wave here fleeing bland catastrophe
And we are at its crest
And nature, doing nothing small, we are likely the statistic mean
And we project out of us stacked matter more and more
And we perceive. Is it accident or apogee?
And then anxiety at the far point of selection
And then death and desparation
The cost of percieve is separation
The gift of separation is perception