Radical is as proverb does.
There's no lining up the armies
Of the night in neat, shining rows.
The truth is routed by alarms
And rumors of patterned events.
Look up. Every light sprawls about
Burning at ease. Commanders' tents,
Unfurled clouds of glowing gas doubts,
Are scattered so haphazardly
No crumb-telescope-wielding ant
Could perceive, even hazily,
An original battle plan.
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