I am the son of Googol, fathered on
A lilith mankind invokes as Aleph-null;
Yet my own name is One,
A triad whose trinity is never full,
Inheriting as I do from dad and dam
The paradox of the integral I AM.
Googol was my beginner: he begot.
There’s a fine finitude in a forthright swive;
But Aleph-null was what
Mothered the improbables of being alive.
Where mass melts into motion and goo proves God,
Matter’s blind horse is now called Ichabod.
Playing particle peep-show with the universe
Blunts Occam’s razor time after time after time.
The entities of his verse
Multiply nucleons, but at least they rhyme
With opposite numbers often enough to prove
A big bang theory must be the basis of love.
Where Adon is the prime particle, yet to find,
From quark to quasar the leap is long enough:
The common measure is mind.
Let arche be chaos, the gate is “quantum suff”.
Through which, no number though, from Aye to the power of
Issues the first pure tone, the first clear thought.