advice on your poem

I apologize. I never

give advice.

I usually don't give advice
or presume to. But I am moved,
and I must.

You must take what you have, here,
and use it as a beginning: to destroy
the universe, and travel in straight line.
Arc infinitely through what is left,
'til you reach the end,
dragging at lightspeed
the detritus of all that
blurred mass half-shattered into energy, all that
battered energy half-congealed into mass, and then
exert your pull: an entropic field, bending all
back together.

Inhale the last gasp of the big bang, change
and charge it with your lungs, expel it renewed
in a shout of light and time, the clang
of a brass gong the shape and size
of the cosmic microwave radiation background,
and what will be written upon it.

Your poem.