Lost in the Quantum Weeds

Copyright 2017, 2018, 2019 Patrick B. Murphy, All rights reserved

Quantum Rubble

We hope to see the smallest unit,

The Quantum,

That tells us we’ve reached the Truth,

That we understand.

But our hopes fade away

Into quantum rubble.

#  #  #

From the singular space-time quantum bubble,

Anti-entropy burst out creating quantum rubble.

#  #  #

Her touch turned my heart to quantum rubble.

#  #  #

I woke up and felt like quantum rubble.

#  #  #

After my third drink on Friday evening,

Troubles dissolve into quantum rubble.

#  #  #

The waning moon hangs low and yellow,

Glowing Claire d’Lune dust,

Rocks turned by time into quantum rubble.

#  #  #

It’s the eyes that fall in love

And love crumbles into quantum rubble.

#  #  #

Lost in the Quantum Weeds

My eighteen dimensional quantum field equation

With my unique combination of parameter values

Perfectly describes me down to the random chances

Fluxing through my life.

My wave function accretes a diaphanous husk of quantum rubble.

#  #  #

Tinker Bell

Blue haired

Blonde eyed,

Dutch by way of Kalamazoo.

Tink was a love bubble of

Space time energy beauty.

My love rubbed against her,

Husks of quantum rubble

Fell at our feet.

#   #    #

Coffee Pot Steam

Stultified love trapped, boils up finally

Blistering steam squeaks out sideways screeching

Heats the world, dances wildly, surrenders,

Softly subliming into quantum rubble.

#  #  #

There’s the rub

Cold light runs swiftly

Through trellised grape vines.

Autumn prisming

Churning yellows to golds, oranges, and reds.

Photons frictioning into quantum rubble.

#  #  #


In the dark

Beneath stormy clouds

By the Seine

Down the steps

Under the pont

Out of the rain.

Time enters hopefully as the present

And gives us the past and quantum rubble.

#   #   #

Elvish noise

The shadows of woodland elves bustle by

Moments out of phase,

Rustles from whispers,

Blur beyond sound into quantum rubble.

#     #     #

The Louvre

Inscrutable igneous inscriptions

Of lives and loves long dead

Nurtured now only by the Louvre.

We imagine

Beautiful sounds,

Filled with meaning,

Tugging hearts,

Staving off our descent

Into quantum rubble.

# # #

There are three steps to oblivion:



Quantum rubble

# # #

The pond heron hunted for one last meal

Single footed standing, grey blue and still

Sunset’s remnants reflecting on water

Slowly fading into quantum rubble.

#    #    #

Wind rustles through the tree

Diminishing from branch to branch

Spilling out between the leaves

Whispers gliding into quantum rubble.

#    #    #

Ode on a Wooden Monument

Nine stumps in an ellipse in the pasture

Two foci defining the outer shape:

Our animal side, our consciousness side

Each focus separate but related

Our true nature a secret that haunts us.

Nine stumps elipsing the inner structure

Spinning, blurring, obscuring the soft truth

Rotating as cultures around our core.

Rain, sun, cold, wind, time: bark falls off the stumps

Monuments fade into quantum rubble.

#  #  #

The filaments connecting us turned from

Cosmic radiation into nothing

And from nothing into quantum rubble.

#  #  #

We shared an orbital, snug and in love

I shared all my quantum numbers with you.

Pauli said one of us would have to go

After one last look into your soft eyes

I jumped to a new, lonely orbital

Empty with nothing but quantum rubble.

#  #  #

Resonating peaks in our quantum fields

Disappeared like wine from open bottles

The day after a Super Bowl party

Leaving a thin trace of quantum rubble.

#  #  #

Stephen says a joke.  Merri laughs, reaches out and touches his hand with humor, sits back and smiles for a moment and then looks away at the menu.¹

¹Love flows softly from your warm fingertips

You smile wide with your eyebrows and cheeks

I hope you can’t hear my heart beat so loud

How did the world just collapse into us?

When you look me in the eyes I won’t breathe

I won’t take away from your attention.

As you look away the moment passes

And our special slice of space-time is gone,

Surviving only in my mind and soul

Safe, softly shielded from quantum rubble.

#        #       #

This conversation takes my memories

and grinds them into quantum rubble.

#        #       #

Golden moon tattoos emerge through your curves

Transferring golden images to me

Leaving only husks of quantum rubble.

#        #       #

Night falling slow on a Midsummer’s eve

Honey bees lounging on their beehive porch

Tall wildflowers, drained of Spring’s colors,

Play hide and seek at dusk with fireflies.

Are their lights magic or just chemistry?

Fireflies appearing, disappearing,

Reappearing moments later nearby

Hopscotching in and out of orbitals

Leaving behind a yellow afterglow

Of softly shimmering quantum rubble.

#        #       #

The crescent of miniature daisies,

“Frost aster” to botanists and their friends,

Covered with small butterflies and wee moths

They hop and jump as I walk by

They flit and flat and barely fly

A large monarch appears below the leaves.

The last vestige of a sprawling pasture

Once covered with wildflowers and bees

All cut to the ground except this vestige

Drops of dew cling to green quantum rubble.

#        #       #

My struggle to look past your smile and voice

Shaves off a sliver of my soul which slips

Slowly to my feet as quantum rubble.

#        #       #

I dropped my bucket deep into the well

Of human kindness.  I filled it up to

Overflowing with blue quantum rubble.

#        #       #

Where can you find quantum rubble these days?

Where dreams used to live.

copyright 2017, 2018 Patrick B. Murphy, All rights reserved