When Quietude Becomes Us

we dream
to die

in this ring
of death

breathing in
our own entropy

like drunken druids

sinking past
the florid infirm

as floor
turns to fig leaf

and celestite settles

no more
shall we fret

when quietude
becomes us

Author: Max Meunier

Feminist. Ailurophile. Musician. Poet. Human.

6 thoughts on “When Quietude Becomes Us”

  1. The great circle of life… love this: “breathing in / our own entropy” like dust in the wind. Synchonous sidenote: I was just writing about nature being entropic yesterday. In regards to my junk drawer, which refuses to stay organized in the spiffy, expandable organizer I bought for it. Strange that we would both choose this unusual word. 🙂

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