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haunting the quark

if you can’t scientifically explain it
dawkins says it has no value – some hope
inside the mechanical framework of a guess
(as far as any fact can truly grope)
doubts roam – mere looking can’t attain it

twentieth-century science perceived that mess
the more you probed the inner – more the scope
for chaos (uncertainty) – no mind could drain it
tie it to a marriage it must elope
clarity of thinking must make worse the stress

the artist looks at truth and has to feign it
stirs mud makes shapes (gives up) disturbs old rope
what’s not there’s there (says who) – such wantonness

revelation comes in flits and starts
each one’s a bundle of the genes’ loose ends
there’s a sparking deep down in the dark
that (come to light) can’t find its plain amends
can’t sport a price-tag in exchange and marts

who wants mathematics in a singing lark
(oh it’s there all right – it’s not what listening spends)
the mystic truth lies somewhere in the heart – 
lies (you see) - all best truth has the bends
it’s blood not thought that asks the muse to heark

no artist helps – no doughty horse but cart
receptacle for undeciphered legends
science hunts (it’s art that haunts) the quark

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