There must be hair flying,
temper tantrums spiraling
mad and madder
to the depths
before anything gets done.
There must be spitting ire,
to anything told, all commanded;
things presumed and things implied.
In the early years of wisdom
nothing can be correct.
There must be thrashing against all tides-
rebellion in the water-
to be “prudent” or “crazed”
must not be borne,
for one must have both
It is only after the flailing slows,
the ache of immobility surrenders,
that a life should find its lifeless end,
finally choose its calm residence
wherever on the seabed it settles.