superfluid in poetry

When things get too tense,
too cold and too dense,
reality itself wants to climb the walls,
almost as much as I do.
It certainly makes an emotional sense,
superfluid primordial goo.

Superfluid drank-up
on some half-remembered bender
superfluid change-up
socially constructed like a gender
superfluid drink-cup
dribbles water out a hidden hole
superfluid language
overflows with words on loan
pronounced all droll like “guacamole”.

Subatomic circumstance
spooky motion wants to dance
like Spidey in a beaker
shaking upwards like a tweaker
in the hearts of stars and in our pants
frozen things defying gravity
slithering depravity
as if these things could have a mind
if it turns out they can, that’s fine
reality is superfluid too
like that primodial goo.