Entropy

Entropy

The fact is

I’m lazy:

indolent, lethargic, sluggish,

idle, torpid, apathetic

slothful:

the whole Roget’s accumulation.

My words are flabby,

from lack of exercise

and my image-maker’s on the fritz.

Too much sun—or

not enough. Too few

walks in the rain

and long boring drives

in which phrases bloom

and fireworks ensue.

My carefully-crafted act

is crumbling and

I no longer dare 

to fling my words into the void

and myself after them

in the entropy-defying

high-wire act

called poetry.