i often want to stop and shake the man or woman who stands
in the middle of the plaza, nicely dressed before the four hundred
year old church that has little to do: in their hands are booklets
of the terror of God, and our damnation: they know me now and
do not offer such hope: instead they smile at me and i smile back
as i click by the church, to enter a place of alleged justice: a simple
smile
among the damned
