I do not like living here
There are rats in the attic
And a big black crow is squaw-king
At my window, demanding entry,
Crow says it's a  hypothetical 
supersymmetric counterpart
to a quark, having a spin of zero.
I think not Mr Crow.
That be all ye need to know.
Mr Talking Crow. Talking bird or no.
I am haunted by these words you know.

(life consists of these little touches of solitude)

Now I lie in my bed just remembering
Our friendly solitude, broken by words
And laughter.
Reason comes to a standstill now,
like light on the edge of a singularity
or like a friendship stalked by a death.