Timothy Pilgrim

Smaller, closer, nice

Turns out, past sizings of the universe
were dead wrong. New calculations say
it holds only two hundred billion galaxies, 
not two trillion previously believed.
Sadly, we must accept, ninety percent —

have vanished. Our gloom deepens 
when we bring to mind dark energy 
occupies three quarters of the cosmos.
Dark matter holds twenty percent, leaving 
only five — for all planets, suns, moons, 

a fistful of comets moving through.
Not to mention black holes — and us.
Nihilistic dreams become the norm
since dark energy has only one mission —
destroy all space and time. This will take

a few billion years — quite a while to wonder
if gods might become desperate for worshippers. 
Clearly, budding believers shop around —
folks switch deities, female gods, notably, 
on the rise. Prayers not answered instantly 

cause the half-devout to kneel elsewhere
if new gods promise delivery like Amazon Prime.
Small wonder scientists search fervently to find
a parallel universe, any kind. One our size,
filled with fresh creators, would be nice. 

Click here for wind-up monkey
Online a long time, I spur a rise
in my low-point life, search YouTube,
for slingshot to accelerate existence —

blind-click of mouse will suffice.
Fate provides wind-up monkey, key
turned tight. Red dunce-capped, 

cymbals high, sad-faced, he begins
to clang, clash, crash. Vibrates screen, 
keyboard, house. Intensifies thrash,

sure to awaken neighbors, streamers,
primates past. Key unwinds,
he writhes, squats, quivers. 

Ends frantic dance, stops mid-clap.
Like mine, mournful face, sad eyes,
frozen pixeled in displeasure.

Timothy Pilgrim, a U.S. Pacific Northwest poet. has over five hundred acceptances from U.S. journals such as Seattle Review, Santa Anna River Review, San Pedro River Review, and Toasted Cheese, and international journals such as Windsor Review and Otoliths. He is the author of Mapping water (2016) and Seduced by metaphor (2021).
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