Cold War Entropy: A 50s Lounge Lizard Meditation
 
I believe firmly in entropy and its cousin atrophy.
Both are empties. I see a world driving to an end
Of time, paradise completely lost in nuclear dust.
 
But, I have been taught, like so many, to spin dust
To lemonade, make a trophy gleam, create a challenge.
So, forgive me if my demeanor lacks raging sun-
 
Flowers blooming from the hole in my lapel, the hole
In my ass. I have been distracted by anxieties greater
Than  imagined, fears not of my own making, for
 
I am a peaceful and an intelligent man given to singing
In nightclubs for people’s pleasure. To large numbers
Of people. But all I’ve done is soothed the entropy in
 
The deepest mitochondria as they atrophy in audiences.
I admit I have forgotten to recognize the huzzah of daisies
The reinforced white hydrangea, all the delirious emergence
 
Of life. Forgive me, my pain. Or, don’t
I could not care less. I curse all beauty that I will
Be denied, that stands wordlessly by, indifferent
 
In aesthetic fields that will turn to nuclear ash, radiate
Chromatic hot atoms with poetic names like strontium
And Selenium, Solarium – So I don’t deny myself 36
 
Whiskeys and two or three packs of Luckies a day, and
Tonight, after the Sands show, a group of blondes will come
To me naked and asking for it. 

- Matt Santateresa