entropic

It’s the weighing of the evidence, it’s the going at it word by word. A crow, a vulture, a few fellows loosed in the blue. It comes down to the looking for. It comes down to what you are trying to do. Cold takeout parked in the lot. The meat down to the bone.

It’s there in the smoke you spill, it’s there in the cinders that you say. Here but for the grace of burned tomorrows. Here but for the want of way. There in the panic as each moment is abandoned. There in the song you want to say. It’s not so much the seeing that goes missing. It’s more the sorrow of the saying that is never to be.

There’s glory as the ruins smolder, there’s grace even as the fire takes. To winter every season burning want and wonder. To succumb though you feel free and fit. The music lapping over in thick layers, nearer the singer than the song. Oh how the earth rejoices as the flesh is turned upon the spit! Oh how the stars sing beyond our every oblivion, these breathless prayers, these gasping pleasures!