Clusterverse

The cosmos is garbage,
Heraclitus observed,
His observation one

Of the fragmentary
Sweepings it refers to—
But that’s not to suggest

It’s all just ejecta
From some nicer cosmos,
Even though it might be.

It’s a midden in that
It’s just moving this mess
Around, never really

Getting rid of litter,
Just shifting bits about—
A heap piled here, a heap

Piled there, a stellar wind
Blowing one pile apart,
A black hole subducting

Another in its well.
You think human beings
Invented shifting waste?

Count the bones, children, count
Coprolites, count the stars
Torn apart every night.