Some of the ants don't follow the pheromones
Everyone wields a machete, everyone cuts leaves
and those little trails get wet in the rain
Some storm clouds never disappear, they just roll
over the mountains, a perpetual misty fog threatening
to unleash the known unknown on muddy slopes and tiny
settlements of forlorn humans under tents and tarps
and nylon
These six legs scramble across strange surfaces
and this hardened skin shouldn't feel the weight of
the day but it does
And so they stray
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