7.
“Charlie,” I said to break the silence, “I was going through some poems and prose pieces you sent me a while back, among which was a prose poem I don’t think you ever published called “War for Peace.” Remember?”
“Sure, of course,” he said.
“Seems like,” I said, “no matter who’s in charge the circular reasoning political power uses to legitimize itself is always the same.”
He waved his hand, and the tree branches on the walls dissolved into a black, quivering mass, like an army of ants that then reshaped itself into words and sentences slowly scrolling up into the sky: