Molecules we packed in the accordion:
The vicissitudes of life,
food for the necessities of breath, air compressed
into small pellets, phony compositions
by a drunken musician. Subsequently
they were shot from the horn of a bagpipe.
Listen! We are as incidental as vibration,
negligible photons in an age which accelerates continuously,
ready to split atoms
join a chain gang
start something irreversible.
In a moment we shall conjure rockets
which rise multicolored like Holland imported tulips
until they explode in the stratosphere.
Thus we expand to fill containers
and shed cataracts of intellectuality and emotion.
One should not be contemptuous.
It is our singular fear of a chaotic existence
which causes us to react in this manner.
We are the human equivalent of Avogadro’s number.