Ferlinghetti's Big Bang
I didn’t get much sleep last night,
thinking about dark matter.
I mean, what if it isn’t there after all?
suppose we have to back to square one
and start all over?
sometimes I think that my cosmology
should square one back to Apollo
and his sister Artemis;
to Zeus and Hera enthroned
upon heighty Olympus;
where I would wear a long locked wig…
and rest upon my weighty book;
a sybilline caricature of rest,
captured in a toga net…
Sybil of mantic prose...
Sybil of the Day...
Peregrinus expectavi
pedes meos in cymbalis
weary from my writing,
hung-over with heavy eyes…
wine stains splashed upon my prophecy!
Ahhh…what’s the use?
let me see…where is that scrap?
that thing foreseen?
If I could only remember…or find the
damned cocktail napkin of the gods
where I chained my promethean thought
in a wicket of adamantine inks!!
I’ll get a ticket to Cumaea
and go by Greyhound bus
to the dark matter casino
and act like Apuleius’ ass
bewitched by powers I cant resist!
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