But I'm Stubborn As Those Garbage Bags

Take One Step To The Side And It's All Absurd.

It Doesn't Matter How Anything Happens.

It Was A Dance Of Masks And Every Mask Was Perfect Because Every Mask Was A Real Face And Every Face Was A Real Mask So There Was No Mask And There Was No Face For There Was But One Dance In Which There Was But One Mask But One True Face Which Was The Same And Which Was A Thing Without A Name Which Changed And Changed Into Itself Over And Over.

We Are So Small Between The Stars, So Large Against The Sky.

It Is Painful To Recall A Past Intensity, To Estimate Your Distance From The Belsen Heap, To Make Your Peace With Numbers. Just To Get Up Each Morning Is To Make A Kind Of Peace.