Babbling Brook: A tribute to Eris, god of chaos

Rabble, Rabble, Rabble!
Can you hear the street walker's noisy fervor?
The rustling of pant legs brushing
as hard leather shoes CLACK against the concrete?
The Business
of rushing souls and kingdom's sold
of baby's fortunes and baby's doom
all under the soundless floating of royal death particles

Babble...babble...BLAHHH
Hear our funneling men-folk float
across the barriers of the terrestrial realm,
While far away a brook gurgles and chokes
with life
without us
with constancy and rhythmic eternality
that the babblers may capture with lettered equations and authority

--Reconcile
The word reconcile.
How will we reconcile the real and the false
The buildigns and the discolored lakes?
Babble, babble, babble!

The old man out west lives in a shack.
He throws his rusty dead tools into the streams
and shits on flowers
bending his knees and squeezing his eyelids.
Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky,
twinkling teardrops from fat-assed clouds swell and plop down
The ground water gurgles softly, while it hurls rocks,
and gives a deep massage to its lover, the ground.
What!
WHAT!!
What a silly babble that we shall shush.
What a wave of the ridiculous we are swimming in!

Asses turned to the wind
Classes filled with rocks
Radios firing Ye lovers of cats
Crying calves
Burning, aching, killing laughs from table 8
In the back

Babble, Babble, Babble!
Halt!
Halt, and we'll turn to the boy in L.A. pissing on a tree
enriching it with his life force
decorating the stronghold of la vie
so that we have before us a cool, smooth blend of
“What the fuck!?”
of “uhh, oh my god”
of “Ya-ba-da-ba-doo”
Mixtures and minglings so beautiful
we're forced back to that special word—NO—holy word
Reconcile.
Reconcile.
Reconcile the aqueous people flooding into the streets
speaking with flickering tongues and great breaths, sighs in teeny lungs
with the water unheard flowing for a reason WE assign
and YES I assert these two are out of line
so let's mix and mingle them, bend and break,
Castrate, power structures of man and nature

With no dicks maybe we'll stop screwing the world
Let's chop off our dicks!
Do the ridiculous
Ridiculous reconciliation with hints of insanity and bits of
Barabajagal!

Babble, babble, babble!
The wind and bees and brooks are babbling,
and we are babbling louder.
Apart.
The silly sounds are out of sync and disaligned
So we delve into pockets for our special word
But outside of our soul's mania these cries are
silent