In the District of Anger

When the empire evaporated
we were the dregs,
a population displaced,
scrapped and shoveled
into a compost heap
in the back pocket of Paris.

Here our history is erased,
our sky coloured
with the sad red rouge
of the whore.

Sometimes we make pilgrimages
into the city to see
the magical objects denied us.
In this phase of discovery,
we smash and grab,
bludgeon and maim,
because we abhor violence.
We abhor what we are.

And if we torched
our own gymnasium,
it was only to take
this hideous game
to the streets.


words: J. R. Salling, Ohio
photo: Francis Raven, Pennsylvania (Raven's Aesthetica)

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