Vasilios Moschouris

Entropy  

It is the water that beads
and still steadily drips
from the faucet’s head:
lost droplets gleaming in the sink
like shattered diamonds.       

It is the power streaming from the outlets
into lights left on, illuminating nothing
but dead, empty air;
and the fat black cords left dangling
like dark tongues.       

It is every mile on the speedometer
in the hand-me-down car,
the ticks of the fuel gauge and the blank, broken radio;
the burning stink of gasoline,
and the pavement stained with tar.

It is the factory fumes on the horizon
that I cannot tell from clouds,
and the distant lights blinking together,
flashing “ENTROPY” in Morse code.       

It is the collapsing gears
of the eternal machine: 
the plastic guts of things
that do not know the sun; 

the smoke-clogged lungs
of the breathless world,
and the ancient towers
crumbling into the sea.