Children Of Chaos

by Bruce McRae

Autumn’s meiosis, summer in algor mortis,

cooling perceptibly, thermodynamics’ second law in gear.

Post equinox attrition and the shift down into stasis.

Because you can’t just keep on living.

It would become deathly dull, you’d start to smell,

immortality hinting at ‘senescent indignities’,

whichever side of death’s door you’re standing on,

whether heavenbound or pickled in medicinal brine.

This is nature’s way, wind-up, tautness, loosening the spool.

We’re chaos’s children, bathed in unseen radiation.

Formerly stardust, we weep in the October rain.

We read till the last page, weary as angels.

The Earth is covered in snow and in roses.

Bruce McRae (he/him) a widely published Canadian musician/poet living in a cabin on the shores of Salt Spring Island in BC. He does freelance film editing and has an on-going recording project, Thee Caretakers. He is a film projectionist in a small rural city and will soon start writing another book.

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