Let the laws themselves be explained,
Demanded the renegade, nothing real or true
Is timeless. I like him, but it’s possible,
Perhaps, that nothing itself is real, true,
And timeless, too, being no thing, being
Outside of change. God, gravity, nothing at all,
These three remain, mystery one and the same,
But the greatest of these is nothing? One
Thinks of how weak numbers went, before zero
Anchored the number line, how the calendar
Handed down from ancient Vaticans began
Already at one, how the modular clock face
Counts to twelve then starts at twelve again.
The progress of civilization perhaps has been
One long drunkard’s walk toward knowing
That we’re missing the missing at the center,
The core where all becoming is vanishing, where
The sum of all variation is nothing, is none.
But if gravity draws possibility from nothing,
Erasure that draws us on, does nothing ever
Change, does nothing itself transform itself,
Can gravity weaken, diminish, and die?
The truth is an empty and voracious sphere
Composed of interlocking waterfalls of lies.
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