My enemy, too, sits legs-folded
Inside nine lotuses, peach-fragrant,
And wherefore art thou human being?
My enemy believes harmony
But some forces will oppose merely
To pirouette like a mad compass
My enemy convinces – convicts
My body to lower the razor
When my companion moves: red echo
Can I pray without my enemy?
My mind-throat spills these dark arguments:
I am not my own worst enemy