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Pressing
Everything is intrusion.
The cow on the field trespasses.
The mote in my eye,
Like the eyeball in its socket
Presses against the lid,
Seeking its space in the nothing,
Where something seemed
To be pressing against it,
Scraping, adhering, piercing, lying still.
On the Set
Now they will ask me to weep,
And I’ll turn into Hecuba for them.
And they will be amazed,
How I can make tears flow
Anytime they say “Action!”
So it is:
Action is suffering.
And it isn’t much to them,
That I am suffering,
As long as I weep promptly
When they say “Action!”
Action is suffering.
The director says “Action!”
And I restrain only
The holding back of tears.