Quietus, denying an echoing truth, avoiding or ignoring it, or maybe pacifying its spirit, offering it peace, or maybe exorcising it, within the act, so much violence, a preference for gentleness, the seed struggles, beneath the soil, and you wish to silence it, rice and bread, what is a staple food, each evening, does this have to be what I'm eating, you look around, your neighbor's wife, blonde hair and blue-eyes, and you wonder if you’re settling, to be a monk satiated on dew drops, it may be enough, but for life to replay in the same way, I’m not sure if I’m accepting, I should move to China, the random story that would play out, it may be much more satisfying…

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