Today's poem is by Dana Curtis

Schrödinger's Mouse

There's nothing so small that there isn't something smaller —
a very small cat killed an even smaller mouse
and the box issues physics,
(sell: failed cell: blood) a gaslit house:
everything unseen escapes a still warm body
because the box is open, the experiment is over.

I don't think there was any intention —
put it in a plastic bag and take it to the dumpster —
children cry from the depths.
(Malice: abattoir) scratching in the night —
genetics will out.
(this is the stench
that comes from experiment's end)
most things are smaller/larger than me.

These flowers smell of almonds and omens —
the party at experiment's end.
Infants line the buffet and
ghost mice dream of ghost cats —
all those tiny organisms rushing away.
Footprints in the Brie,
cigarettes breeding in the carcass.
Walk in shame — place
the box inside the box.

The small sun obscured by smaller clouds — it's so lovely —
inert in my hand (I think of Algernon.)(Think of light.)
The inevitable —
as the dumpster child looks at death — variety —
nothing can ever be called smallest.

She dances in the summer rain
(bark of tree, bark of shin, bark of dog)
atmospheres — this tear — how you
pay heed to the lead lined box?

The measurement of unseen movements.

Copyright © 2017 Dana Curtis All rights reserved
from Wave Particle Duality
BlazeVOX [books]
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

Archives  Web Weekly Features  About Verse Daily  FAQs  Submit to Verse Daily  Follow Verse Daily on Twitter

Copyright © 2002-2017 Verse Daily All Rights Reserved