Issue
#3

May
2009 

a poem by Justin Reynolds

entropy

there are no more reservations
at the chateau,
the snow has fallen,
we've hedged our bets
on the advice
of charlatans--but this
is just the way
the dice land,
a quick shake of the wrist
& we leave destiny
to the second hand.
there is no more wealth
in the banks of intelligence,
the vault has been ransacked,
there is no such thing as law,
it's time to lay low
in the bunker,
crack the window
to let the smoke out
& fresh air in;
this is just the way
everything disintegrates
between
the chaos of a monday morning,
and
the serenity of 4 a.m.

we're all up against
the firing squad
but at least
some of
our guts
are made of steel.

© Justin Reynolds

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