In suits and skirts, an army with feet of clay, regiments behind typewriters, standing at the doors of lifts, bent to release minutes from the crossbows of their desks, buried in paperwork, holding the reins at photocopiers, immobilised they file, division by division. An inland city. A king who thought himself a god: Woden, Barton Parkes: they had names for these tombs. Redoubt, December 1990 |
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