Hyper-operating Life Forms.  A Poem by Graham Powell

Graham’s Number is up;

eyes closed,

a Cinco de Mayo moment of

lunacy

in the Library of Babel;

quantum leaping images,

seeking,

explaining,

colliding,

up and down,

strange and  blurring                                 

like his synaesthetic visions.

Charms in life,                    

tops, bottoms,

leptons,

chancing dark matter

of Black Scholes,

black holes

and post Waxahachie

fallout.

“…financial weapons of mass destruction,”

which no COBRA could save,

the fated Desertron death

flooding markets with

quants

waiting for the qubit revolution

of synchronic calculation.

Eyes open,

the dream for humanity over,

the accounts sit before him

definitively closed.