Meseta backdrop, nature’s stage.
This curious tableau.
The one – thin, angular, cocked.
With wondering eyes and dainty smile.
The other…. Hell’s hot dog vendor.
A tale of two hats.
A place to sprout, a corpse to bloom.
He, the furtive father,
“Coordinator of Rapid Rupture.”
A wily, uneven way about him.
His avid habit, striking up chains
Of flickering, dangled, ashen
Unforgiving ground, withered and flat,
Cracked and crackling.
His opposite – a uniformed number.
Puffed up, eating for two.
Fat men, little boys.
Luminous knights playing a fiery trump,
Enlisted, entitled, enthusiastic.
Big science peeping through nature’s blinds.
Had he not always known?
The self-styled Renaissance man,
Donner of hats.
Land laid waste.
And the Nobel profession?
Not so esoteric now.
Not so relative.
We are still sons of Newton, Oppie.
Crown of thorns.
So grant us a sermon.
Break, blow, burn.
Tell us what we, the clouded flock,
Don’t know, can’t comprehend.
Batter our hearts,
You who imprison us.
Now the mystic’s hat.
Amidst the shrivelled tea leaves,
The faint, flailing murmurs
Of a mutant humanism.
Something about the exalted one,
His thousand suns.
An overcooked, irradiate bone,
Nothing left to chew over.
9/12/1945 – Carrizozo, NM.
Where two Adams met.