Entropy in 1967 by Marco Maisto


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                      Sit holding a video camera in the storefront window when the
                      rolling   shutter  opens  so  that  people  passing  by will  think
                      you’ve  spent  the  whole  night  inside  and  wonder  why. As
                      soon  as  anyone  makes  eye  contact,  lift  up the  camera and
                      start taping.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                      With  incandescent hands,  sign  directions  from  the shop to
                      the house  you  grew  up in  down to  the last footstep.  In the
                      winter do  it  in  leather gloves.  Toss muscular analogies and
                      loose vowel sounds over your shoulders.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                      I tell you the names of places so alien I believe they exist only on paper:
 

                      Auckland
                      Tibet
                      Oshkosh
                      Brixton
                      Brighton
                      Kerry
                      Odessa
                      Santa Fe
                      Kiev
                      Brittany
                      Osaka
                      Kunlun
                      Tyrol
                      Trieste
                      Zanzibar
                      Big Sur
 

                      The sum of my feelings about these each of these places lives
                      and  dies  in  its  name, in the few pictures that radiate from it.
                      Kent: mint sprig over the back of a fast horse  heading toward
                      the gravesite  of her rider.  Dover: when the air tasted the way
                      blue paint does licked off a bleached seashell.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                      In  the  evening, light  a lamp  and find a small table; sit at it,
                      profile  to the  street.   Read  the  newspaper  under  a  hand-
                      written sign that says, “A Story.”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                      When the sky peels back, lay on the grass where your shadow
                      used to be and  when I  stand over  you  address  me  by  your
                      name.

 
 
 

Marco Maisto’s chapbook The Loneliness of the Middle-Distance Transmissions Aggregator was a finalist in YesYes Books 2015 Vinyl 45s contest, and his poem of the same name won the Bayou Magazine’s Kay Murphy prize. With Michael Chaney, he is co-editor of the poetry comix folio in Drunken Boat #20. Marco’s art and poetry can now or soon be found in Spry, Fjords, Drunken Boat, Rhino (Editor’s Prize Finalist), 3Elements, Heavy Feather Review, Tupelo Press’ 30/30 project and Small Po[r]tions. He attended the Iowa Writer’s Workshop. He lives in NYC with his wife, the painter Margaret Galey. Read fun chunks of language @MarcoMaisto and contact him through marcomaisto.com.