At first the speaker seems to correct themselves. We expect a pattern to fall apart, but the poem says that isn't quite what happens. The pattern unravels, and in doing so it shows us "flailing" at its very center. Even more unsettling, the unraveling isn't a failure of the pattern. It is how the pattern gets hold of us, so coming apart becomes a kind of capture.
The second stanza turns colder and more cosmic. Words like "vacuum" and "entropy" suggest a universe running down toward disorder, and the speaker imagines entropy as a royal heir who was always waiting, then ruling all along. The feeling is helplessness mixed with grim recognition: "we choke" and "we remember," as if we knew this all along and forgot. The mood is bleak and airless, though the calm, almost formal tone, with its talk of heirs and sovereigns, makes the dread feel inevitable rather than panicked.