Read this in Ragtime or not at all

Dark matter doesn't matter so much it seems,
what matters darkly is buried in dreams,
filling a void towards the apple that fell
upwards from heaven to luminous hell.

O! The Mythology!

(Not to make light of the Hindenburg,
but, hey, though lighter than air-
that was one heavy crash, man)

I love fiction, yes it's true-
There ain't nuttin' fiction ain't do.

(And it's made us what we are today)
That's history in a nutshell-
multiple stories, multiple lies.
Here's a bad pun: greaves against griefs.

Corollaries:
Where's my Surplice?
Where's my Pooja?
Where's my Incense Stick?
Where's my Tiki?
Where's my Torah?
Where's my Fetish?
Where's my Hound's Tooth?

(The last one is for Coco Chanel-
That's a belief system too,
but it could be an amulet
or a fetish too too too taboo.

Best to ask Fergus,
after the Druid.)

Guess what? You're gonna die.
Know what? So I am.

Numbed by clear and or ruby red
philandering by a secret name,
was he was known or was blind
to an awkward table lamely set.