[In this poem, L.E. Leone examines cosmological questions]
ENTROPY: Only a Word, Go Back to Sleep
It’s true that I am not an apple
tree, or wild geese or grass. But if you
can’t see nature shining through my silly
surfaces, Sugar, that’s your failure
of imagination, not mine. Shaved, painted,
pierced, bikini-lined, I call myself
the Chicken Farmer and do not farm
chickens. Let me have my
eyes and big head, wrong as wind,
afraid as dawn, dangerous
as the storm that waters this
orchard, angry as the volcano
that made this island. Sad as fog,
which wrecks a small-boat fisherman, saving
the lives of at least two hundred fish.
L.E. Leone
© 2010