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Who are 'we' that we should
own an island or
any contiguous
'I' seize the land with 'my'
army, that makes sense,
but 'we'? claiming
some sort of natural
affinity of blood
to this particular
soil - we Irish, we
Welsh, we
native Americans?
Who are we?
What are we?
Are we?
The farmer tills the soil
but me?
Here in this land
that isn't 'mine'
I am a sort of
parody, staring
out of my window at the greenery
tossing in the wind, with the murderers
in the hill above me. I can still see
blood on my hands, being,
as I am, a continuity, cruelly
closing myself in a box
of beautiful scenery,
listening to the news and then,
detached from all responsibility,

all ownership,

thanking the Lord that I
am not as other men ...