The peace repeated with the war, the air
was rife with violence. Reiterations
of progress decayed, reflected versions
subverted their inflections. The peace was
at war with repose. She's the only refuge
for those forsaken, as I am. The war
of righteousness continues in the scholars
and periodicals. The calendars repeat
in cycles, decadent epistles are cited
and recited quietly. These repetitions
and demonstrations pacify ascetics,
saints and monks. I am below the conflict
above us, though the whirling heaven is
a figure of confused, unfailing love.
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