the cosmic farmer plants a seed
a small black hole in every sun
some will sprout in that plasma
we plant a seed of darkness too
in every beating human heart
no coincidence that blood is hot
floating and leaving no trace
the cosmic farmer plants a seed
a small black hole in every sun
some will sprout in that plasma
we plant a seed of darkness too
in every beating human heart
no coincidence that blood is hot
if you were to survive
falling into a black hole
the experts tell us
–and by experts i mean
neil degrasse tyson–
you would be spaghetti-fied
stretched from the edge
of the even horizon
all the way to the center
of that dark star
it might take forever
to reach the singularity
and who knows if you would feel it
pain is information
and information stays stuck
on the inside of horizon
and time stands still
or seems to
on the outside edge
all my assumptions
about you
are just hawking radiation
boiling out into space
maintaining a screwed up
sense of equilibrium
we can’t make contracts
with the devil
to prevent the heat death
of the universe
we’re already rushing away
from ourselves at the speed
of light
every time you told a lie
a devil got its wings
black holes ripped open
space and time warped
and somewhere someone
flipped the switch
on the atomic football
or maybe that’s just me
crushed by the weight
of falsity
but the pitchforks
really hurt