hard as diamonds to destroy.
This world is too delicate,
too hard on itself,
everything is breaking
on everything else, into
everything else. Nothing
isn't always crumbling
Risibly ancient mountains
serve up melting wrecks
of dissolving ruptures
carving up the winds.
The softest beats
the hardest core to pulpy
jagged martyred mush,
breaking down in breaking up,
one universal whirl
of rock, paper, scissors,
and, speaking of scissors,
not a moment's cut so fine
that smaller fractures
aren't continuously shifting
within each micro-moment.
The never-ending endingness!
How can awareness ever
be attached, be one
of any compound crystal
shambles twirling down?
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