I won't have it, God You can't defend them anymore The hamsters are okay the snakes the whales are fine Even those roaches never fazed me much But the men you must abjure Humans, God, are just too messy to endure within this house If you could but see from Mother's eyes you would defer those men have simply no idea of order In this I don't mean to belie that humans like to line things up beads for instance on a string Men can in rudimentary ways pull things apart fit things together and yet the question isn't whether they do love to rearrange It's true They do That's plain But, my God, their rampant rearrangements are insane! Right away I beg you to recall the men commenced to pull the teeth from other beasts the reproductive organs off the plants the feathers out of birds only to fit them back together to like them up in deranged chains -- necklaces and coronets -- to decorate to celebrate those elevated upright human knobs How much more pleasant for us all if you had placed the knobs pate-down like pedestals or quaint potatoes planted underground As it was you recall right away the men began their mad foray stampeding through our ordered house from room to room and back rearranging this and that and that and this and that My God! Can't men perceive that life's arrangement is life itself? I tell you that they can't? And yet since you stand adamant I grant you this bare fact: your human creatures do exhibit albeit astoundingly infrequent slight systemic spasm of delight when nudged awake disarmingly by displays of cosmic harmony apropos of which I can but add "So what?" They chortle over this as proof of their own exalted brains as evidence of genius soul artistic sensibilities unique among your creatures never guessing that their busy ignorance their constant self-preoccupation their incessant messing-messing-messing squeezes what you meant to be one omnipresent-incandescent-grand-eternal-view into epiphany a rare pathetic poof Oh well I wouldn't care a whit except your human creatures have contrived to pull apart to fit together to devise from secular inanities molecular insanities chains of matter that would curl the spine instantly of any worldly kind but one For unlike other creatures men do not just tinker with Creation tidily within their skins one single terminal chain to a lost lifetime Oh no not men! The men survive They string their careless lethal beads outside themselves They string them -- Watch them string them -- in our house My God see how long they stay alive how they continue to proliferate their nefarious offspring The death chains litter litter linger They poison all our world They permeate our soil they snarl miasmic miles of air they clog our open seas like knotted strands of human hair before not soon enough not fast enough I fear the chains at last start working through the nests of veins of men and then "Everything can't cause cancer!" they exclaim their knobs rotating back and forth their eyes dilating in and out their chains clack-clacking around and around and around -- necklaces and coronets -- their throats and their tumoral brains My dear God, answer. What is this hideous thing called cancer but life gone amok? From derangement misalignment in defiance in defilement of this house? Cancer is men undone done in by their own execrable disorder And how could it be otherwise if you could but see from Mother's eyes? Renounce them, God, I say renounce! For in this house, God, neatness counts.