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