Crowds pulsate
angered breath
waiting
Crying out
they will have their justice
stench of rotten food
rancid fruit
the sweet smell
Vengeance
A shout goes out
from amongst the crowd
another
more
They cry out
The procession crosses the platform
they carry me out
starved
tortured
weak
heavy, thick chains
they throw me to the centre
They prepare
the crowd
for their justice
their target
their devil
their focus
for unimaginable, seething
hatred
I have wronged them
the food flies
the hangman is ready
For Me. For Me.
[1997]
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dear canada, you are safe your indigenous are almost forgotten your white guilt sheds crocodile tears a fresh wave of immigrant colonizers c...
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