I hate to tell you this,
but the world in which we live
is just a papier-mache machine
turning under the feet
of a music box ballerina
tethered to a spring.
Lift the lid away and watch
the universe tumble like dice
in a game that God plays.
Maybe it's really like Schroedinger says,
and the waveform collapses
the moment we open the latch.
You can run like a rabbit
and never get anywhere;
the tangential velocity
is just so damn centrifugal
that our hands are forced
by things we know cannot exist.
Maybe that's why I could never
stand to say I was an atheist:
science only works on the hypothesis,
the experiments you can repeat and undo
like Photoshopping the cosmos.
What can we call God,
if we can't unimagine an idea?