LIKE CLOCKWORK

Like clockwork

machine within

a machine so

the Newtonian universe thought

but then

entropy and

black hole, the new Newton

thought differently

staring across

England's green, green grass

so intently you

could swear he could

see the verdant in

every subatomic particle

and the flesh

seizing, giving way

the machine in

the heart of the body ripe

to be returned to

factory with

sudden seemingly fatal defect

but life drags on and

intellect proves indefatigable

laughing at

everything that seemed to

be of absolute consequence

here on

the edge, the periphery, out

of synch with central

purpose, direction, time

(if indeed there

are such things

in the crazy, comic book

sudden shapeless, shape-

driven

paradoxical cosmology

of postmodernity

and Stephen sings

an

electronic tune well

out of

human wavelength, custom,

habit, frequency

an adroit music, sort of

apt for

battered spheres.