Nothing Has A Centre

A cancerous day nothing to guide

all the monuments of slower aeons sank into the loam

even time decays like a razor through creation

as I sifted through the bones of a soiled humanity

with swirls of light and meaning drained out of the universe

a fever dream or a brooding advanced decay?

the hollow of night drifts like the slowest sea of all

the edges failed every fragment rushed away

thrown around the centrifuge of space

disintegrating set of cells disintegrate space

woven back together with chemical thread

cord which makes us live

branches run down with bones of ancient stone

and roots grow up with the weight of the air

interminable ennui

a ragged cascade of neurons edging out

the roots were so shallow once free to stagnate

it slowly drains away to a level that can’t be reached

decay non being urging death

roots grow down with ancient stone

swarms of purest crystal expand reality something high very pure and empty

above the lines of light and when we reach the highest point things fall apart in all forms created

time passed unused bestial and lonely

a gaunt catalogue of bones and hollows

the frame tested to destruction as veins tremble and secrete

but what if time is the disease an essence of discarded nothing

roots grow up with ancient stone

interminable ennui

branches run down with bones of air

cascading neurons

urging death decay and non being

stagnant relics

free to suck the marrow of time or nothing.