Of information is uneven,
Pocketed in general decline
In our thermodynamic cosmos,
But then the pockets themselves must be
A kind of information, inert
And inherent, playing out as heat
Coruscates through them, complicating
The local as the whole falls apart.
How much complexity could have been,
Had to have been packed into the start
That an Earth could arise and derive
So much elaborate minutiae
Like a skin of dementia on a god
Who had no idea what was divine?