What will it come to, this passion,
Restlessly querying and questing
To vanishing point?
To understand the nature of falling,
That, at least, I can attempt.
Dark matter, not to be observed,
Fluctuating quintessence
That my life craves,
Can it be that the finding
Is in the missing?
The algebra of each day
Tests me to disintegration,
The physics of each moment
Is my voodoo.
Turn to any page
In the Book of the Dead
And seek an oracle;
It is the hour of reason and prayer.
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