My Cousin Chaos

A cousin named Chaos have I (he’s not actually my cousin. He’s like my aunt’s stepson, but I guess I can still call him a cousin, right?) There’s nothing that he will not try (like the day he let all the chickens loose from the coop and they were running like chickens with their heads cut off. Isn’t that an expression or something? Chaos is crazy like those chickens were) Since he follows no rule (He laughs at me because I try to write perfectly metered limericks and he thinks everyone should just write free and BE free in all they do.) He got kicked out of school (it was so funny. He set off the fire alarm and all the kids were running every which way, much like those chickens he let loose in his barnyard. Now he is saying he wants to become an anarchist.) So to anarchy school he’ll apply! Gosh, he’s right. This limerick sucks. It’s much more fun having no restrictions, just letting my thoughts go anywhere I want them to take me, kind of like stream of consciousness writing or something. Too bad I can’t be all surreal-like, then I might make it into the newfangled modern poetry magazines. Most people don’t even consider limericks to be real poems. DANG it, I feel another one coming on. Cousin Chaos, I now do hear tell That you’ve found a new school, so learn well Your anarchy ways. In limerick phase I’ll be stuck while you give people hell. Crap. Even trying to write like Chaos, I just can’t do it. I just keep conforming to rules of poetry forms like limerick. I just know my cousin will be laughing his chicken head off when he reads this. Yeah, the old chicken motif again. Always relating things together. So much for Chaos! I’m outta here. Written chaotically last week sometime for contest of same name