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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