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Peacefor Awhile Peace for awhile, but there is no such thing as peace forever. The calm suburbs you see while passing by on a train, the children riding their bikes under trees, are only interludes between the strain of coming to grips with what we wish to do and the failure to do it. Poem I am tired of you as I am tired of myself. There is a mountain I am climbing in the dark, and when I reach its top the dark will be there. Harold From the west comes Harold, with a bitter smile, and a dry hate in his voice for micks, wops, kikes and refugees. Too bad he has to work in a Jewish hospital, admitting Jewish people, sick or ready to give birth. He makes sure not to raise his head while women suffer before him as he writes slowly his data. Or else how could he write home to the West, to the tall sombreros and the spittin' type that he, the climax of a pioneering dream, works for Jews to make his bread? Where is the gun he ought to pull to plug them all, then swing off at a canter for parts unknown till things cool off, 15 ...

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