SPACE.

There’s a singularity
At the heart of our shells,
Constantly seeking
And leaking
New fluids;
Eternally burning
And returning fresh matter;
Permanently turning
And churning the chatter;
Forever shattering
And scattering thoughts
Along the course of life.

A black hole in the soul
Sucking at sensible things,
Puking up pools;
Plucking at strings
And rebuking the tunes;
Stuck in a cycle
Of death and renewal
While making and breaking
The rules of natural law
That pour in to feed
Its needs and board up
The ruptured order.