What’s it all about, Albert?
Let us talk of fundamentals,
chew the fat on flawed reality,
two caffeine fuelled organisms
questioning existence.
Let’s pretend that we are fixtures
and not dodgy synapse constructs,
scribbling madly through the hours
like we feel there’s no tomorrow.
Here I pitch verse at the universe,
seek antidotes to entropy,
focus following the threads
in the patchwork that is spacetime,
while you look for truth in chalkings
of bold metaphors on blackboards,
channel Newton’s classic genius,
contemplating this and that.
In truth, it’s madly tangled
like some tale of autumn messiness
but I’d like to know the answer:
just what is it all about,
Albert?
Jonathan Humble
picture by Ferdinand Schmutzer in 1921 (wikicommons)
Jonathan Humble 