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Wrists bound behind me, I trace pocks in the wall. Before our masking, we faced our executioners. Ten smooth-faced youths. One for each prisoner. None knows which rifle holds the blank. Didn’t Socrates say: “If you hear the shot, yours was the …
Jay Squires
Denise Larkin, BA (Hons)
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An excellent visionary poem.
Mastodon: @dlarkin121@me.dm An author/writer of fiction novels and poetry living in London writing about her experiences on Medium. dlarkin121@gmail.com
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