Entropy
Sipping coffee at a diner
in this mountain town,
between hash browns and biscuits,
the heavy nicotine perfume
on a waitress’ skin
causes me to look away from her
hand holding a carafe to the window
where the frosted world
looks the way it did before
it was too warm even for
swimming in a given June.
Millennia ago,
the sun ignited blackness
and the tips of waiting plants
that begot of themselves
the coffee bean and fossil fuel
that slides down my throat
in a rush of hot energy
scientists suggest we will never
recapture, but will instead dissipate
quietly into an ever expanding universe,
growing more disordered
the farther it travels
from my cup.
And it’s true that time
is only the intervals it takes
a thing to deteriorate,
so when I kiss a man
I wonder what is the terminal velocity
of affection.
And will chaos, for one brief instant,
brace itself against trust and let us rest
a while in the company of each others breath?
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It is so comforting to read something you've written. And besides, I only like narcissists.
ReplyDeleteO' terminal velocity of affection, how she stretches!
I am waiting for the next blog post with bated breath.
ReplyDeletei am still waiting for the next blog post !
ReplyDeleteI loved Hanson and I still do. I also remember when I looked like the little one. I am glad I grew out of that (or maybe he did).
ReplyDelete