The buildings' wounds are what I can't forget; though nothing could absorb my sense of loss, I stared into their blackness, what was not
supposed to be there, billowing of soot and ragged maw of splintered steel, glass. The buildings' wounds are what I can't forget,
the people dropping past them, fleeting spots approaching death as if concerned with grace. I stared into the blackness, what was not
inhuman, since by men's hands they were wrought; reflected on the TV's screen, my face upon the building's wounds. I can't forget
this rage, I don't know what to do with it-- it's in my nightmares, towers, plumes of dust, a staring in the blackness. What was not
conceivable is now our every thought: We fear the enemy is all of us. The buildings' wounds are what I can't forget. I stared into their blackness, what was not.
Rafael CampoThe buildings’ wounds are what I can’t forget; though nothing could absorb my sense of loss, I stared into their blackness, what was not
supposed to be there, billowing of soot and ragged maw of splintered steel, glass. The buildings’ wounds are what I can’t forget,
the people dropping past them, fleeting spots approaching death as if concerned with grace. I stared into the blackness, what was not
inhuman, since by men’s hands they were wrought; reflected on the TV’s screen, my face upon the building’s wounds. I can’t forget
this rage, I don’t know what to do with it– it’s in my nightmares, towers, plumes of dust, a staring in the blackness. What was not
conceivable is now our every thought: We fear the enemy is all of us. The buildings’ wounds are what I can’t forget. I stared into their blackness, what was not.
Rafael Campo