order is a human illusion
and squirrels and hornets
are the first to remind
that not everything can
be kept in a straight line
and never was there a river
that longed to flow in such a manner
still they rage behind the dams
to tear them down and run free
for chaos is the thirsty root
that feeds the sprig of choice
it nourishes the prophet
giving the soul a voice
sing they do from mountaintops
and twirl in the dance eternal
among quasars and specks
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