The Mystery
Where is he come from,
Why is he doomed?
The Genome is only the punch-card
Computer of a generationor more ago,
Filling up buildings, no colored displays,
Just the buzz of magnertic tapes-
You need a quantum computer to solve
The real equaations, everything in between.
He beckons from the eleven dimensions.
He repeats and does not repeat.
The folders of his quest
Are infinitely stacked
And infinitely variable.
Time stretches-
I finally get it perhaps-
His tombstones need not bear resemplance
To one another.
(Although they may) .
For the key to the unierse is probability,
Not mere possibility.
I am more than an example of a collection
Of particles inhabiting a certain space-
And it requires no anima to grand me
That place.
poem by Stan Petrovich
Added by Poetry Lover
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