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Grey Sparrow Journal

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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FEAR OF ENTROPY

 

 

           

Thermodynamics seemed quite comforting at first.

Energy can be

neither created nor destroyed.

 

But when he finally thought he'd grasped the second law,

he panicked.

Bland formlessness the end of all?

Intolerable.

 

Well...

Let the universe do what it would,

he'd be a bastion of order.

 

He ate dead animal and vegetation,

extracting building blocks for proteins,

to stitch his wayward cells in place

and darn his fraying DNA.     

 

His pencils, sharpened, stood in soldierly array.

His socks were grouped, by color, in their proper drawer.

           

He learned a poem every week,

a language every year.

His diction was precise.

           

Judicious use of weights positioned muscles where new muscle should be placed.

He minimized his probability.

           

Years came and went.

 

His joints began to ache

and messy clumps of fat sprang up.

Hairs sprouted randomly.

                       

There'd always been a problem with odd socks but now

they multiplied outrageously.

He couldn't quite recall the name of his own sister's dog.

                       

His very food (now that his teeth had gone) shape-shifted

to a clotted, claggy mush,

foreshadowing chaotic endless nothingness.

                       

The cryogenic fund that had consumed his lifetime's savings

proved a scam.

                       

Instead, his son had him cremated.

                       

And axons, dendrites, all those synapses,

that once had captured every sonnet Shakespeare wrote,

became a puff of water and of CO2,

a glorious small surge of entropy.

 

                                     -Isabel Miles