every day I come
offer ablution
lay fresh flowers
every day I pull
weeds cloying from her cheek
sweep the sand from her fingers
every day she sits
in the wreck of the city
so sad & so silent & still
her children have fell
into the water
the coast is peppered
with spearhead and coin
every day we cry silently
without a word or tear
-
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Going for the Throat 