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The Universe Within a Cuppa

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Ripples of steeped, sweetened darkness.
Dusted with sugary ionized nuclei
Churned by gravity’s silver spoon
Engraved with a participation ribbon-
I’m a fundamental force!

Balanced in a porcelain teacup
Dabbed with jewel tones.
A mosaic of wine nebulae
Like your grandmother’s china roses.

Or an unfortunate vermilion stain
On the crisp folded tablecloth
From imported Einsteinian space-time.

Bullets of hydrogen and helium
Poured from ancient honeycombs,
Cherry milky way’s bleeding steam
Painted with cardinal’s wings
Speckled with invisible neutrinos.

They taste like bitter coincidence
And matcha luck.

Ceramic teapots cremated
Reborn in the nuclear kilns
Of a long-dead singularity,
Laced with caffeine,
Molded and sculpted, scorched
With bubbling masterpieces
Of periodic tables.

Victorian lemon slices
Of virtual particles
Flung throughout the Andromeda galaxy
Boiled through rope nets of dark matter
Strengthening chamomile protostars
Of fruity potential energy.

Jasmine, oolong, black-
13.83 billion flavors of supergiants.
Spinning towards galactic collision, confusion,
Mad Hatter tea parties.

Supernovae bleeding uranium
Like leaves oozing dawn hope
And Monday mornings.

Cemeteries of white dwarfs.
The cold, half sipped cups of tea
Abandoned on coffee tables
Next to stacks
Of overdue, scribbled-on bills
Ignored until pressure ensured
Infrastructure collapse.

Gravity crushes electromagnetism’s clouds
In empty wells
Of fourth-dimensional palms

Twisting veins of rainbow matter
Sparkling through translucent fluid
Bent by light’s wooden stirrer.

How many sips
Does it take
To consume a universe?

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