A Muddled and Befuddled One-Eyed Wyatt Earp

And since there isn’t any time

past the illusion of it which proceeds

from those intransigently skewed

conditions which insist configurations

of whatever constitutes electrons

and their inexplicably dark contexts

must disperse out in an infinite

and quickening entropic spread 

as fleet discrete ‘events’ from some

just fathomable big bang cosmic burp,

it’s easy to imagine you’re the lone

foregone equivalent in some unknown

dimension of a muddled and befuddled

one-eyed Wyatt Earp, parched

and gasping in a blood-red desert,

fantasizing what imbibable quintessence

there might ever once have been,

or might yet be, a man could slurp.

.