Once when I read the funnies I took my little magnifying glass and looked too close. Forms became colors and colors were just arrays of dots and between the dots I saw the rough bleak storyless legend of the pulp paper empty as the winter moon and I dreaded it. I had looked right through, when I wanted a universe that sustains looker and looking and the seen forever, detail after detail never ending. And all I had found was between. But between had its own song: Find it in the space between— it is just as empty as it seems but this blankness is your mother.
Robert Kelly - 1935-
Science explains nothing but holds all together as many things as it can count science is a basket not a religion he said a cat as big as a cat the moon the size of the moon science is the same as poetry only it uses the wrong words.