WITHIN THE BOX
Skinner's daughter is or is not
within the box, a paradox.
Is she learning an algebraic maze?
Programmed with rewards that come
When she turns the gum-machine knob?
Bowing and bobbing repeatedly, inexplicably,
As if praying to an idol?
Is she alive or dead, or
In some meditative, existential state
Is it a Skinner or a Schroedinger box?
Or is it Jack who is or is not in there,
OUTSIDE THE BOX
Crank the crank madly to determine his state,
Listening to the song about
Going 'round the mulberry bush
Or Robin's proverbial barn,
Can you hear the weasel popping?
Of course not!
If any information escapes the box
The waveform collapses
And whoever comes to be inside
If anyone, will know
THINK INSIDE THE BOX
Make no sense of these thoughtforms
Flickering from this being’s brain
Electrified in its own mazemind
That might be Skinner’s daughter
Might be Jill or might be Jack
Climbing the beanstalk down the
Gravity well that’s a mere pore on an
Asexual god’s n-dimensional skin
In its multiple mind they go there
But don’t they know
BEYOND THE BOX
It's terribly important
To not lose sight
Of the real questions
The important question
Is not whether Pandora or Rapunzel
Or Sleeping Beauty
Is still in the box
Ever was in the box
Clings to life
Inside the box.
Holy crap, there may be no box
But how do you know?
What might you become
When the waveform collapses?
And if the box is never opened
Can you get to what matters?
Even so? Or maybe
All that matters is to
BREAK THE GLASS
In one version
She’s been sealed inside that box since
Before Big Bad Bang
Though how she got in there
That’s a whole ’nother when, even
A whole ’nother (kind of) matter (or anti-matter)
And what you need to do
To spring her is to
BEYOND THE COSMOS
Let your eyes be fragmented
As your vision clears through higher dimensions
Then no box is closed to you
Reach in, grab a fistful of anything
Whole universe your Halloween candy bag
But! What! Is this?
Go to rescue your ageless sexless gorgeous
Jilljack and you find four corners
And no way in!
And so you
Pick up the box and rattle it,
Like one of those Christmas presents
Hidden away on the top shelf
Behind your mom’s hatboxes
Or beneath shoeboxes
In the closet bottom or
Beneath the basement stairs
Or beyond the heavy brass-bound door.
Rattle it a moment or two
And you are convinced, by the distinctive sound
It contains a time machine.
You open the box, climb inside,
And travel back to confront Skinner
Ask him why he locked his daughter
In the Box. He punches your light out,
The time-travel paradox subsequently
BREAKING ALL WAVE FRONTS SIMULTANEOUSLY
So are you going to open it? The wave collapses.
Or it doesn't.