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Harmless, all has surrendered to repressive tranquility.
Perhaps because of the innocuousness,
good intentions, pointless hoping.
Resigned practically to death, fleeting and fierce
like a pinch of hot whiskey poured down the throat
by the force of heedfully foretold conflicts.
The cover of experiences of long ago is above us,
and it’s here to protect us, supposedly from the present.
by Stanka Gjuric