Were The Medium A Phone Or, A Call To My Muse

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Were The Medium A Phone

Or, A Call To My Muse 

by a female Faust

Like an illegible sonnet scribbled on some takeout napkin,

Like the oncoming strangeness of impending déjà vu,

the not-yet-familiar will be remembered, again,

to you — though its hinting admits to no thing — in lieu.

To be sure, the any & every may some time coming replace

(& that quickly!) even this static most ponderous Now;

That for which we'd not room for, for itself can make space —

The impossible Beautiful could itself show you how

But — ! The soul of Science is — Reliability —

The successful experiment must be made to repeat —

Exception, though Miracle, by itself is futility:

Uniqueness, alone, is but useless, defeat.

Muse, I beseech thee to find this makeshift temple apt

Or if not, then to teach me — that I may learn — & adapt