Just another ageless son-daughter captured in the flash
of your artistry, your caterwauling canopy
that spans generations and generations of Word documents,
microfilm degenerated beyond belief;
just another message in a bottle attempting relief.
There is none.
There is no data set that can explain why the p-value became
wirung, kung kombros, kung telis, kung quinsel;
there is no data set that prefers oimong over oitu;
no way to tell pau from pena kung pinsel.
Draw your graph wide;
wild, swinging stabs at the science of life.
No one is right, and no one wears a thong;
no one knows where the Homo Longi truly belong.
Or the Homo Merleonis.
The Jenti Tigrensu.
The other species and subsets of victory
mistih prendeh, tona kung tona kung tona kung tona di nubu
klai fikah di alsu.
Klai mostrah olotu sa alma pra bendeh,
olotu sa reinyang pra tizeh
bai infernu di rondadi seng fing.
I hope you know what’s coming:
a rewrite, a meteor strike, a universal flood myth surging across time.
Maybe, just maybe, a better time to be alive.
Maybe, just maybe, a p-value > 0.05.