You can’t crop a giraffe.
You can’t make a cat follow the rules.
Can’t make a kazoo subtle, and plaid always takes
over the outfit.
Weeds will continue to sprout wherever, as sand
won’t stay on the beach, as water finds its way out of any vessel.
Every rumor spreads like fire, like they’ll never
censor every curse word.
You can’t force art inside the lines.
You can’t keep a viral trend from its time.
Nothing restrains true love or righteous
revolution.
And yet all poems…
Must come to an end.
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