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ENTROPY

under a tarp
under
a small
muggy rain
i lean over
tacos
light beer

the air mushed
in petrichor

just past
the restaurant's brick edge
the sheer gray sky
capsulates
me further

i've been in new york
too long
little prayers
for each beer
to get me home

More from the Archives

THE UNCANNY VALLEY OF PROPER HYDRATION

I am working at the kitchen table,
cricket ray-guns at war in the hills,
sticky tick-tick-ticketing in the hot shadows.

I walk to a green, plastic canoe 
under shadow in the ruins of the concrete garage.

Walking towards it, an old roommate's dead car 
sits abandoned, gloomed in web.

Shattered slabs of blacktop driveway
wild with scruffy weeds,
there's a treadless car tire,
and BB shot beer cans.

I'm going to need this canoe to get across the river. 
The bridges have all been blown out.

I must get north.

If I could keep a clean apartment 
in my past life, I can slaughter 
a dog in the post-apocalypse.