This plot line led to the fisher's supper plate,
Not to the pretty wholeness of dramatic conjecture.
Indeed, in this script there was a tit for every tat,
A caveat for every condition,
A counter to every point.
But just as suddenly the dialog ended.
The cast of billions endlessly called the curtain.
Finally, time ceased and the theater fell silent and still,
And elaborate sets collected stardust in the interstitial space.
Some sought the source of the lure's flash,
Finding fire, with which, clearly, play was imperative.
Combustion begat digestion,
And every speck was game for the food chain.
Forges in the belly of consumption
Could never be extinguished,
But their fires, like tricksters,
Popped up again with crackling laughs
And kindled the hearts of stars.
And all the great stars had Earths,
Whirling in cataclysmic dance,
Laughing and crying simultaneously
On the edge of annihilation.
Their soily foundries of adaptation
Developed self awareness,
Without regard to what or why.
These nubile minds were driven to change.
That, if nothing else, was clear.
To this end the Earths revealed their secrets,
Handing over to their progeny
The keys of the mythic machine.
They soon discovered that all its functions interrelated,
That the algebra was indecipherable,
The equation insoluable, with too many unknowns,
Too many degrees of freedom,
And not enough data to contrive any viable model.
Though miles thick, the instruction manual contained
But a single word.
Their soiled skin teemed with vibrant life
Yet they washed daily, for eternity.
Civilizations of microbes swirled down a drain
Into fecund sewers equivalent to holy fonts.
The loving water absolved them,
Patiently splitting the rocks of their ignorance
By seeping into their suffering cracks just before the freeze.
