A Minute Interruption....*

While arranging the cards into some form of Order, the Nomad recognizes a poem that he had seen some where else, somewhere that he longed for: They said to us Thou shalt not kill and they deserved to die themselves. (#) Thou shalt love Thy neighbor. They drew rafters inside the A's and on top of the T's. They made images. They told us we were children, They kept us from reading the texts, since there is not a line which does not condemn them. Belles lettres clogs the eyes, they filled my language with Jazz and jazz is cotton stuffing. Silence! Silence! Children and fishes,(#) they will throw us into the sea, they will throw us into prison. (#) They have lost their faces. (#) --Marcel Broodthaers