Entropy in (re)verse

'' I've been waiting for a guide to come and take me by the hand''

Entropy in (re)verse

By Eve Zennarrow

I hugged the emptiest jukebox
with the verse arms of a beginner.
I wanted to hold those lyrics close,
bury them under my ribcage, but

I have all work and no play fingers
that snap with the rhythm of your blinks.
I can’t sell you this bag of nails;
you could hurt your feet on your way out.

I keep painting over a Monet’s flowers.
How come there are no cigarette burns
on any of the legendary paintings?

There’s something wrong with me.
My thoughts are made of songs
you can’t hear on the radio.

I’ll send you a playlist in chronological order:
from the most bizarre to those we can dance to.
That’s not true — it starts with those
we could dance to, and then it turns to chaos.
Entropy rules everywhere.
I surrender to it.

When the mirror broke, it spoke:
“You look familiar.
Where did you get your face?”

If you destroy something beautiful,
if you break the hands that wrote these lines,
can you find beauty in what remains?

I know life to be some kind of equation,
and us, just variables to follow its laws.
Even if we could live a thousand lives,
we could have never done it our way.

Your uniform doesn’t even fit anymore,
but we still fight — windmills and all —
and I will take your side anytime if you

take my hand. I’m scared.
Can you press play?
It starts with the song to dance to.
You were born to hold the moon and the stars,
and my hand as we dance.

“I might smudge your vintage jacket
with my ancient tears,” I say.

“Even better,” you reply,
“it will sell for millions on Vinted
once the playlist ends,
and we return to the prelude.”

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