The Physics of a Poem

Poetry, in its smallest form.

Born at the end of my pen

Upended

Onto white

 

When quietly I write.

And molecules take their seat

Where darkling peat

Is dipped

Is dipped, repeated on page:

Physics creaks.

 

And its wheels awake

 

It starts.

 

The machinery of stars, the whirring parts

Of emotion and of human hearts,

The

 

Irreducible

 

Commotion of protons,

The sweetness of strawberry tarts;

The worlds entire workings

Bled onto my page

 

For all of life is in poetry,

And all of poetry in art.

The End

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