In my office of hallowed halls

I sit staring at sullied paper,

Seeking answers that do not yet exist,

That no one can give me,

One fist to chin for thinking,

One hand to pencil for scribbling.

What is the world made of?

The question taunts me, haunts me…

Logan Chipkin

Writer for Quillette, Areo, Physics World, and others| Science, history, philosophy, and economics | @ChipkinLogan www.loganchipkin.com

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