used, against our temperate
Winter, fails now to defend
against a savagery absorbed
with our destruction immed-
iately. His flatulent pride
is a lunge against our qui-
et habits of learning, hab-
itats scattered with just a
few thousand printed pages,
due for critical recital in
a calm he can not tolerate.
Who will miss the lock, now
his invasion's so official,
against which ardour's leap
is only a reflex of what we
meet each other for, again?
How many times, Tacitus?
How often go we down the
road so paved by tenors,
laughing at the thought:
Plunder, slaughter, dis-
possession: these they
misname government; they
create a wilderness and
call it peace.
Edmund Keeley
A Wilderness Called Peace
A Novel
Simon & Schuster, 1985©
i, iii m-ban
iv Joel Andrew
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