Belfast Confetti

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Suddenly as the riot squad moved in, it was raining exclamation marks, Nuts, bolts, nails, car-keys. A fount of broken type. And the

explosion Itself - an asterisk on the map. This hyphenated line, a burst

of rapid fire ... I was trying to complete a sentence in my head, but it kept

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stuttering, All the alleyways and side-streets blocked with stops and

colons.

I know this labyrinth so well - Balaclava, Raglan, Inkerman,

Odessa Street - Why can't I escape? Every move is punctuated. Crimea Street.

Dead end again. A Saracen, Kremlin-2 mesh. Makrolon face-shields. Walkie-

talkies. What is My name? Where am I coming from? Where am I going? A

fusillade of question-marks. From `Bitter Harvest,' used by permission.

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