Sunday, June 30, 2013

Every Revolution Spins a Wheel

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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