Fling up your plans like weapons in the sun
All I know is darkness overcomes

Why not keep a lid on your demands
Say they’re wishes not that they’re commands

The other person is as real as I
Where is sorrow when another dies?

Step out as bravely as a bull might do
The matador is here to provoke you

We must die but noone can demand
The time, the date, the love, the perfect plans

The needle’s eye is different for the blind
Easy threading needles, very kind

I learned my perfect vision was witheld
How much can we lose yet be ourselves?

Where the buzzing bee has sipped and spat
I shall sit and wear an old sunhat

We both had cancer, why did I live on
When the irreplacable has gone?

We do not know why we are living still
I hope I have enough to pay the bill

Silent and attentive as an owl
The tom cat is betrayed by his own yowl

“The peculiar evil of silencing the expression of an opinion is, that it is robbing the human race; posterity as well as the existing generation; those who dissent from the opinion, still more than those who hold it. If the opinion is right, they are deprived of the opportunity of exchanging error for truth: if wrong, they lose, what is almost as great a benefit, the clearer perception and livelier impression of truth, produced by its collision with error.”
― John Stuart Mill, On Liber

In Bedzin and in Krakow they breathed in
What they denied in conscious thought or word.
The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin

Penetrating lungs so deep within
The dead  unburied mixed, in air secured
In Bedzin and in Krakow, mortal sin.

The nearby people turned to burial urns.
The human dust by  breathing was allured
The ashes of the Jews, the shades of skin.

So  Europe took their human ash within.
A graveyard we became unknown, impure.
In Bedzin and in Krakow, more of sin.

And who they thought destroyed  lived on in them
Controlled their lungs, their hearts  their minds uncured,
The ashes of the Jews,  borne in their skin.

Like a mass communion without words
We ate and breathed the Jews, the gays, unheard
In Bedzin and in Krakow  we walked in
The ashes of the lost, the glades of skin