Why Can’t We Have Nothing Now?

By the way, why the endless
Patterning, cosmos? Couldn’t
You leave a genuine blank,

A patternless splotch,
Somewhere? Entropic heat death
Is just a far-off promise

We won’t be around to see,
Since no one will be. For now,
Entropy’s a direction,

Never a destination.
Why not just a simple blank,
A real gap, not zero-point,

Not omnivorous black holes,
Those antonyms of real blanks—
Why not a nothing, somewhere?

We suspect you’re hiding it,
That it gives your entropy
The direction we’ve noted,

That you’ve placed nothing nowhere
In nonexistent future,
Where its very nothingness,

Its absence of existence
And it’s exact nowhereness
Gives all of us our movements.

Intimations of nothing
Are all we get while we are,
But why it’s so, we don’t know.