Nine, 40 Poem by Anne Tardos

Take a good look, she says about her inventory.
Palatially housed, her inflammatory and multifaceted
set of selves.
Old brain inside the new brain, inside the skull.
The exact velocity of quantum particles cannot be known.
Like wave equations in the space of certain dimensions.
I never thought that things would go this far.
Angular momentum of closely-knit and sexually
adventurous people.
Any piece of matter, when heated, starts to glow.
It's that kind of relationship that's built on friction.