The Tribune hired him on

At a thousand a month

To write exotica, marginalia,

Compendia, apocalyptica,

And frothing reviews of time
 
 

(Which they cheerfully minced

Into seconds on Mondays,

Minutes on Tuesdays

...

And miniscular 

Centuries for the Sabbath).
 
 

Then leap year devolved

And our poor synchroneous boob

Went millennial between

Sunday and Monday,

Where he dissolved to a knotted 

Pool of quarks

And was soon consumed

By the restless throng

With tachyonically buttered scones.