Repetition runs counter to chaos.
The steady tap-tap declares one
to be; it belies the random
scratch upon the prison wall.
Only for a moment one rises
above the skitter of rat’s feet
through dry straw to say it
again: I am here, I am here.
Too often ritual’s condemned
as too difficult a constraint
to work within. Yet, there is no
freedom in the sun’s fire and fusion.
Freedom’s found in the patterned
improvisation of predictability.
(May 7, 2018)
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