A Quantum Statement Poem by Clive Culverhouse

I remain, he surmised, the possibility of outcomes,
I am, he collected, but particles upon their way
like a snowstorm towards a windscreen, I wait to
be a final measurement, and yet, to all miscreants
in need of harmonious affairs, as Prometheus upon
his rock, as Nicorates in his right hemisphere of my
ever-seeing, I, the incumbent of waves gliding through
plasmas, he trifled, am never at rest in my somewheres.