Sunday, March 10, 2013

Spilt Milk

I dig the ruins in Rome,
those granite columns, domes
and arches of megalomania –
the Pantheon, Basilica and Coliseum.

I am fond of failing relations
toppling like dominoes,
one after the other,
where loss becomes gain
and memories tangle
like hair brushed from combs.

I relish rained-out baseball games –
swamping a pitcher’s mound,
rolling tarpaulins,
the ricochet of lightning
striking the upper deck,
like a tape-measured homerun,
in a jagged floss of light
and Zildjian sound.

I enjoy cakes that don’t rise –
burnt black dinners, the look
in my wife’s smoked-filled eyes,
Oh, shit! slipping from her lips…

I understand old men’s faces
worn like dried-river beds,
their leathery hands,
their “hearts profoundly stirred”
and the legends they weave,
never the same way twice.

But most of all, I love the 2nd Law
of Thermodynamics,
the degree of disorder in the world,
and the fact that everything
sooner or later will fall apart,
cease and disappear into energy,
like this blog
and into oblivion like this blogger.

“Spilt Milk” was originally published in Right Brain Review.