Somebody told me
- between the last bit of light at daytime
and the first rise of orange in the morning - that
actually life signifies nothing

that so, I thought, and bells started to ring
in my ears, and yours.

quit performing this dance, I thought
quit transferring your sport into life
for I fear it

you strive for this horror, the horror
of pages
and pages of pounding works
of giant piles of living paper

Later you will see
or hear
how they laugh at themselves
and this sound - which you will hate -
feels so great to me

The sound of laughing paper
of running ink
contradicting itself
in - and by -  its very own shape

Is not that great?