This is an angry love letter, to a place left behind yet always there, continuing to matter and hurt and shape the poet's identity.
"But no one was interested in eliciting my testimony;
after all I wasn't dead - I wasn't ill - and hadn't this
country treated me so well?
For it is not a human right to be much more than Agamben's bare life,
to exist in the hallowed halls of the academe,
because there comes a point when our wanting
is simply too much, obscene -"
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