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RPM Challenge: Twenty eight (nine) days to record Your next masterpiece!

This is not a haiku, Though at first you may think it is. The poet enjoys your confusion.

In fire or ice? How will the universe end? It ain't over yet!

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Time is relative. So, also, is space, says Al. Spacetime, your cousin. (Yep, you caught me--I said "time/space." It will be fixed.)

Nothing matters more Than nothing, all adrift in A vast, endless void. A little ditty for the dark matter enthusiasts among you . . .

Yesterday, today, Tomorrow, all illusions: Fractured bits of NOW.

Piltdown Man, a hoax? Don't buy it. He is alive In our midst today. Piltdown Man arrives In a black stretch limousine And grey flannel suit Piltdown Man survives (Anthropologists agree), Thwarts those who say "nay." Piltdown buys and sells…

Is the really art? My muse cannot tell for sure; All the same to her.

Ghost in the machine, Patterns from the soulless beast, Speaking unto us.

Summers at the Lake: A teenage requirement. I seldom partook.

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I've grown quite adept At preventing severe falls. Balance: my good friend.

Words, what do they mean? Of time, mountains, and rivers Jon sings abstractly.

Trouble finds us all. Misfortune cannot be dodged. Karma seeks us out.

We spend our lives Bathing in chemical soup; How does Mother feel?

There's a small hole in (About the size of Tolstoy) My education.

Two stones sit sleeping; Millennia pass quickly. What are the dreaming?

They without honor Rule iron-fisted, never Knowing our respect.