Today, where I walk, the cosmos sings

the song of the existence of tangible things

where... da-dum-dum bollocks!

Bollocks, I’m bored;

as bored as atoms that vibrate back and to

then oscillate some more because they’ve nothing to do

I’m as bored as the quarks that whatever quarks do,

as bored as electrons and positrons

that pop in to existence and pair annihilate.

I’m as bored as any other leptons too.

I’m as bored as the gluons that only seem to glue.

I’m as bored as

bored,

I’m bored of you;

bored of you listening to poetry,

bored of you sitting there listening to me.

So,

flip a new switch,

change the program,

change the disk,

change the bloody record, and

right:

boundary and infinite...

And, everyday rolls into nothing

then to telephonic contact

with someone who has my number

and how have you got my number?

Have I given you my number? –

Do we even have a number? –

as the cosmos sings discretely

quantised energetic nothings

of poetry and binary,

first order differentials...

The phone rings digitally,

addresses me electronically

in a synthesised voice

as you try to sms me

and I miss you.

Why do I miss you?

I miss all the semantics

in an electronic voice,

in a electronic garble

as you try to sms me.

you don’t, I don’t think, miss me.

I momentarily miss you,

there was nothing I should miss.

Why is life so complicated

Why’s today so hot and cloying,

my clothes so close and clinging,

my mind so bored and angry?

Where’s my isolated winter?

I want my isolated winter

with the cold I used to feel.

What’s the point in condensed matter?

For years, I have hidden my light under a bushel.

For years, no one stole my light.

A rich man gave each of his servant a light

one hid it under the same bushel

I went to retrieve mine

and had doubled my money overnight and

that’s point in having bushels

and they’re made of condensed matter –

it’s not the point in condensed matter –

not in matter per se,

it’s not the point in its existence,

it’s maybe not the point in life

but it’s something though at least.

It’s something I can work on

when I’m not so bored and restless

and less oppressed by this damned oppressive heat

and can know just what I’m feeling

I think its endless boredom

and the weight of condensed matter

and that it won’t matter

and the winter will be here soon

and the dying of the light.