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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the sun shines brightly cutting through the haze into tight corners of the post-atomic daze the concrete alley floor, with its broken flow...
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for fourteen years i wished my father dead at the age of eighteen i buried him it would take another six years to be rid of his physica...
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