Eleven dimensions, so they say but who looks that close or cares that much anyway? They keep thinking smaller and further, and ‘what could it be’ they ask in fervour, whilst making cups of tea to keep the mind awake, asking what could it be? and not what is at stake? They want to see! they want to know everything, everything, so that nothing is precious and mystery a myth, but the mess of the specifics get all tangled in the thing; Do we live in a world where the proton isn’t the end of the line, and birds string and dogs quark, and the universe is made of twine? And if we do, and these string have only length, no height nor width just a one-dimensional oscillating line, vibrating in time with the sound of the atom, the sound of the universe busting a rhyme; then fine, but if space is still expanding, then that string must be stretched thin and should it snap like a rubber band and the universe shrink into a grain of sand then I’ll raise up my hands and say I’m sorry.
Sorry for not believing in a bloody piece of string.