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In A Coaltar-Black Jungle

1.

You come with a camera slung on your back:
the whole caboodle of it's never been so urbane;
it's our muted past lacerated by a far-off light

but gleams of it glare at our every blinking
and sagas of that conquest do clamour -
we stumble before the mocking eye and the flints,

once so innocent, now rumbling at our heels.
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Thursday, October 12, 2006
Topic(s) of this poem: racism
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