marking the earth we are like pigs rooting
everything made of pieces can be taken apart
stars molecules disassembled into points in
motion and context gravity spinning its web
lines overlie what was already there as if
mindless scribbles counted as analytic purpose
compulsion to impose an order of our own
were virtue feeling we have to do something
leaving it alone is not proactive enough our
energy overflowing in disconcerting swirls
or sputtering through imagined obligations
competing with everything and its own ideas
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