The empire is sacred

“The empire is a sacred vessel and nothing should be done to it. Whoever does anything will ruin it; whoever lays hold of it will lose it.” Tao Te Ching (XXIX)

An odd navel gazing that makes and keeps on making the same
Error; an uneven
Bent of sight goes on galvanizing sightless tirades of excellentia,
Apologia when
The naught of naughts was so much at hand, when the grace
Of a zero could
Persuade an inner calm, when the stream could have meandered
Downwards as
Physics would have it had it not been for a relentless will of wanton

PoincarĂ©’s recurrence

The Poincaré recurrence theorem states that certain systems will, after a sufficiently long but finite time, return to a state very close to the initial state.

That return is a given is goose-bumpingly reassuring, but
The initiality, is it just the primordial sense of togetherness
Or something less? If so, what to make of the guarantor who
Does with her math what the fairytale-teller does with his
Amoral ends grafted onto mystic beginnings and shadowy
Roomfuls blighting necessity upon daft necessity in a blink?