In the silver slips of morning,
fog draped across the land.
Shore definition is fleeting;
no glimpse of strand from strand.
Yet ducks and gulls fly by the nose,
quacks and screeches lend a hand
to we blind few who lean on sight,
and, hence, have lost the land.

I asked, “Why are you gluing shards back into pottery?

He said, “Because fuck entropy, that’s why!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him entropy was alive and well, given the energy he was devoting to the task.

But he was like that.

If you asked, “Why do you want to go riding in a hot-air balloon?”

He’d say, “‘Cause, fuck gravity, that’s why!”

He didn’t like that there was a set of rules that he wasn’t free to ignore —

regardless of whether he had any inclination not to comply, otherwise —

Maybe it wasn’t him.

Maybe, it’s the defining characteristic of being human:

being pissed off that there are things that aren’t at all under one’s control.