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Threadbare worm casts along the bone terraces tell

No foot has fallen here since the old city burnt itself down for shame

This is the sense

Nullified

Killed by each other

There is not one left to gloat or mourn

There is not even a home for the madness

Let the tourist be shown and let him photograph nothing, be on his knees, torn by his darkest prayers.

Nick Weston

 

 

 

 


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