In the final 40 minutes of The Theory of Everything, the movie about Steven Hawking’s life and achievements, I paused it 7 times in moments of inspiration to write 7 poems. I’ve decided not to edit any of these (spelling errors amok). As a relevant aside, in my high school philosophy class, I asserted that the concept of choice was nothing more than an illusion; 15 years later (a couple years ago) when I studied Hawking’s principle on black hole radiation and the mutability of the universe, it changed my mind. This is poem 5:
As we break in subdivision in these theses we envision onto branded propositions we keep on asking questions Grandiose held theories crunchin number berries fruitful new inclusions nutty substitions
postulates hypothesises discrete mathematics formulas and habits territorial inhabitants sipping something suculant
a puzzle a place a palindrome in space
Time and make believe agree to disagree. If my boldly laid perception causes perspiration mirroring vexation made by you.
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