unascertained

in a non Euclidean space,
some math abounds,
all my functions collapse,
and hang in the expanse.

randomness has purpose,
suspended in happenstance,
logic is a slave,
treads in retrospect.


torn filters of intellect,
fit a curve,
drawing shapes,
inventing constellations.

sticky clusters,
quanta lazing around,
dust, cells, swarms and galaxies,
solidification of ether.

clouded mirrors,
as expeditions of truth,
fight existential battles,
in a foggy cauldron. 

I let it pass,
raw and pure,
unfiltered,
unascertained.