Fragmentation Poem

 Glorious day of somebody's’ God…

feeling fit as a fiddle in fine fettle…

in the middle of things, world changes…

science fiction, an anachronism,

can’t keep up.

We split the atom, then we split parts 

of the atom until we came up with nothing.

Meanwhile we go on as if nothing happened…

people writing books about what may be true

or not…reaching for the brass ring, the answer,

something solid to grasp

in this explosion

where there are only pieces.