chaos

 everyone has got a little bit in their lifes while others seem like magnets to these forces of nature.

the poet is better off bearing witness to chaos then being the cause or effect of it.

It is the poets work to puzzle fragments of life into poetic form.

there are infinite circles of chaos spinning round and round and round, intersecting and creating more and more circles of chaos.  Like hullahoops of hope and despair thrust upon our hips.

today we are as yesterday in the midst of chaos, that of our own making and that which thrust upon us by outside forces.  

It is how we move through these circles that allows us to lay claim to being one or the other

the cause or the effect

or the witness to.