When equanimity falls to the wayside
And the eyes empirically survey the hillside,
It’s Einstein’s time that I can’t bide,
Mawkish mental masturbation adroitly I chide,
Thy self,
Then my discreet self in its inchoate knowledge of reality,
Like the mass of humanity
Dissembling about Nature,
And Nature in turn disassembles matter, that we build up and think
Matters,
Your death is no grand spectacle...
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