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Poem	(I) 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 (II) 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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