The universe is pulsing,
beating and growing,
a heartbeat quickening
to vast to be understood
but still sickly constricting
as if time and space is convicting
me of crimes I have yet to commit
and some sins man has not yet
gotten around to inventing.

So, I am venting pulsars of pain
that rotate out and around then
back in again.
My black hole dilations
greedily absorb all of the light,
and space flotsam,
never returning anything.

Unending, beyond comprehending,
still I keep bending my mind
in strange contortions
to understand humanity’s
and spacetime’s weird distortions.