the stark purity of reassurance—that no,
you're not alone;
that yes, it's okay—that all of those ways
you suppose you've invented
to torment yourself
are actually shared, are culturally
predestined. That, in fact, all of the omnipotent
possessors who came before you
have clutched the very same
small world in their hands
and offhandedly declared,
oh well, to hell with any such
hard-earned and
terminal serenity—
before bathing their dominion
in the antiseptic chaos
of another controlled calamity.