The Central Singularity
The blood of sadness is reality.
The real stands far away from bloodless veins
And not in shadows. No duality
As Zarathustra saw it swells or strains
Inside the marrow of the universe.
Inside its bones where quantum physics seethes
The nothingness and somethingness are terse
And huge with sorrow. Divinity breathes
In agony, if only Buddha knew.
The apparitions Plato couched in myth
Upon a cavern wall are all askew
Unless they hold heart’s torment at their pith.
The only other choice which looms? A dread,
A crux, a god of chance, senseless as lead.
20 Apr 1983, New Zealand — Princess Diana lost in her thoughts at a dinner banquet. — Image by © Tim Graham/CORBIS