Three Hundred Fifty Five Million

The waveform people took it.
The form of love between us,
the gravity.
Back to their mansion in the woods,
on a planet
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Can you see it leaving in the city?
In every city on the planet,
past the grimey stains
on subway stairs.
The people leaving the cities
to live like the waveform people,
in their woods
three hundred fifty five million
light years away.
Let them walk upon earth and snow
in the winter.

Said the waveform people.
Let them cherish their human
manners.

But the mansion is not there.
Only the blue sky
of the waveform people above.

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My Cat The Physicist

  
I remember the thousand
afternoons
with her
made
so obviously
from star dust and rivers
and the tallgrass
of Texas

when she meowed
I did hear the mischievy
of the Big Bang
you know
the thing hearing itself as itself
you
me
these are words you’re reading
right now
in this place in time

I guess you’re on a planet
but it’s possible a space vessel
or
in the plasma of a supernova

information as matter
and matter as information
the Pinky Da Principle