Entropy

Entropy's a tragedy in the long-shot
But it's beautiful close-up
The soft hiss of a lit cigarette
The crackle of ice in a glass
The almost imperceptible cries
of order ceasing to exist.

Mixed-up Confusion

I got it all mixed up somewhere,
I think.
I smoke cigarettes but not weed.
I drink coffee instead of beer.
I go to college to get educated and the library to get laid.
I have a plan for surviving the apocalypse but not a girlfriend.
I haven't eaten a vegetable in six days.
I stay up for days getting nothing done
I lie in the grass reading when I should be
lying in the grass fucking.
And I cry over songs about getting old
instead of dancing to songs about dying young.

We are all scientists

We are all scientists
gay and dismal
natural and social
chemists and linguists and bricklayers
We cannot afford to delineate
We must take our truths
where we can find them.

On Viewing National Velvet

Art is not a jackboot thug
with a blowtorch

Art is a kindly uncle
who shows up when we least expect
with wonderful toys
from places you've never heard of.

True Art Waits.

(Author's Note: Click here to see what I'm on about [It's not the film/book of the same name], if you're not from Denver.)

Drabble

Ellen jumped out of a fourth story window and discovered she could fly. Finally she was free! She could go where she liked. She would feel the autumn wind in her hair and eat field mice and raw fish. She didn’t have to go to a job that slowly stole bits of her soul day by day, she could do nose dives or live in a tree or just feel the salt-sting in her eyes as she followed the vast illiterate arcs of the great sea birds.

Ellen jumped off of a cliff in Bolivia and discovered she could fall.

Good car to drive after a war

(Authors Note: Guess which line I stole from a Mountain Goats song.)

We'll use our sentences
for life preservers,
After the war.
We'll use these words for kindling
these songs for insulation
these half-finished novels for rabbit snares

We'll eat our syllables
coated in
lard and cane sugar.

And we'll use this poem to build
a brand new Cadillac XLR
Elektra Blue.

Last Thursday I woke up
and was overcome by the terror of existence
Weltschmerz, I guess you would call it
just, you know the horror of freedom
and non-existence.
Anyway, I could feel my pulse slowing down
feel my cells dying
and I tried to get up out of bed
to fix myself some tea or whatever
but I couldn't move my arms and legs.
So I just lay there
staring at the ceiling
for like twelve hours.

Anyway, that's why I missed my court date
Your Honor.