Abstract

They enterin curves and stoopslimping and tappinga file of bare armscreased faces upliftedred eyelids poutingeyes curtained in cataract.The syringes are magazined at his hip.A pinch of skinin a chill autumn morninga stinging spreads outat the borders of shouldersthe grim supplicationfor all his attentionthe trembling smileon his remembering a name.Swabs spent in bucketsthe names all collecteda shifting and amblingacross the lawns to their liveson small porchesand in dim echoing cells.Washing his handsof the short easy morningthose bird-bone armsgrow stars of Davidin the injected whealsand the upturned headspull at his neckfor a sparklet of mercyhe prodding them downinto the frostfrom the stinking trainsat the point of more serious weaponry.They are a herdfanning out to their winding down daysdark-eyed ones shuffling blindto other deaths, gassed and limed