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

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