All the supernovas

I am engrossed in the notion thatWe are all harbouring galaxies

Within us, infinitely complex,

Infinitely mysterious

If we are star stuff,

How many of us are

Supernovas in the flesh?

Unfurling in the face of

Entropy and uncertainty,

And diametrically opposing

Obscurity itself are eternities

Worth of light condensed inside

A single blink within a blink of

God′s eye

Exploding with such intensity

That both past and future

Are tempted to fold themselves

Into the ear canals of the present

The luminescence of human beings

Is light-years more subtle

Contained within the inner sanctums

Of our infinitesimally-sized beating hearts

Are the Goldilocks zones of the spaces

Where we allow others into our orbits

Because we appreciate the beauty and

Depths we have glimpsed during the

Intimate "I-See-You" moments

The ones that touch us deeply

In ways that make us forget our

Mortality and humanness

Temporarily assuage the notion

That we, too, are living,

Breathing metaphors for dying stars

Dying stars

With brains and eyes and nervous systems,

We are far, far less luminous and

Awe-inspiring than the twinkling stars

We sing about in nursery rhymes;

The fires that burn inside us are

More contained and concealed and

Maybe this isn't such a bad thing

I can′t blow off the notion that the

Galaxy I harbour within is

Simultaneously too much and

Not enough

Sometimes too bright,

Sometimes too dim,

A lenticular print of a human being;

A walking, talking paradox in the

Spacetime continuum

Perpetually misaligned,

Misdirected and displaced inside

The fourth dimension like

Billy Pilgrim in Slaughterhouse-Five

Maybe I'm a casualty of a careless

Creator's wandering hand into the

Margins of the Word document

That was created in the beginning

But must still be periodically saved,

An asynchronous synchronicity,

Abandoned by providence and predestiny,

A chaotic anomaly of an individual that,

One time, while basking in some

Primordial soup bowl, became entangled

With the wrong wormhole and ended up

In an indifferent universe

I have yet to come across another galaxy

Contained in another′s heart sanctum

That has gravitated my way and expressed

Something within the quadrant of

"Yes, I would like to stay and orbit the sun

At least once with you" and truly meant it

And so interdimensional fissures still form

Because I can′t help but imagine all the

Parallel universes where things happened

At least a little bit differently

I call them deep spaces, I

Have nine, I think, and a blank space

Should the Butterfly effect of another

Pretty little butterfly flap their pretty

Little wings in the purple haze of my

Nebula while I'm still burning bright

Maybe all this poetic expression is a

Survival instinct, a dying light rage,

A nine-dimensional chess stratagem

To fight entropy and all its friends

I am continually ignited by a dimming

Hope that maybe I will not entirely

Fade out before I get mine, hopefully

Before Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse

Dies

Even if that means I only render a

Single curious eye watching from afar

Through a telescope located in

Alpha-Centauri Five to a bewildering

Moment of wonder and flabbered gas

No, flabbergasted incoherent yet

Poetic-sounding rambling at the sight of

Something so extraordinary, so achingly

Beautiful and faraway and nonetheless

Seemingly impossible to grasp

Maybe all the supernovas

Are just agonizing to be seen,

Noticed, acknowledged, their luminosity

Directly correlated with the morbid

Awareness of an encroaching impermanence

Maybe all the supernovas

Grew tired of feeling like nothing more

Than a light-source among countless others,

A bright puncture in a staggering firmament,

An inconsequential glitch in the matrix

Where it seems all of us were fated to fade out,

To one day blip out of existence as we know it,

Like an Avenger caught in a war against the

Forces of the infinite

If I learned anything from this existential

Tango, from this tug-o-war between

Meaning and the lack thereof, from trying to

Dance with the universe but constantly finding

My toes squashed, my labours of love squandered

No matter how much my rhythm has improved,

It′s that understanding is often too much to ask

From anyone, if not everyone, and this song and

Dance caters to the ones who burn with a similar

Intensity as the rest, at least, the ones who are

Easier on the eyes and thus susceptible to

Mutual gravitational attraction

I enjoy existing within the enclosures of

Fleeting moments illuminated like lanterns in

The dead of night, when the stars shine

Brightest, unpolluted by ambient light wherein

I realize just how profound and peculiar it is

To just be here wherever here is

I am engrossed in the notion that

Everything we know is just a series of

Random happenstances, and if all the

Light in the cosmos were to suddenly

Disappear overnight, then maybe everything

Anyone has ever experienced was merely a

Comforting little interlude between two

Indefinite periods of nothingness punctuated by

Absolute absence of light

A sine wave with no ending or beginning

A sine wave with no ending or beginning

A sine wave with no ending or beginning

Interlace a bunch of functions that come and

Go, and ebb and flow with temporary

Solutions to the loneliness and confusion

Inherent to the predicament of being

Strung along between

Yins and Yangs,

Everything and Nothing,

Zero and Infinity

A clock without a craftsman?

Word to Dr. Manhattan and

All the Watchmen obsessed with

Tracking calories,

GPS coordinates,

Search engine queries,

Inquiries into meaning,

While losing track of time

I am certain that,

In spite of our endless mundanity,

We are all statistically improbable

Miracles, and, whether we know it

Or not, just want to be recognized

And loved as such

And maybe this is what lies

At the core of

All the supernovas

All the supernovas