a slice of ham,
potato rinds,
a glob of jam,
beer bottle caps.
Inside this drum
there’s other stuff:
a blouse that’s torn,
a hiker’s thumb,
two clips of porn,
hardcore and snuff.
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(Ekaterinburg, Russia,17 July 1918)
the Tsar lies at the end of his long reign.(Blue lips almost struggle to explain,caught in the halfway realm of last expressions.)The Empress sprawls, hands crossing her stained bodice.Behind her rest the bayoneted heirs,blood in pools around their jewelled stares.Yurovsky stands above the heap of bodies.A Chekist practiced in the art of killing,he commends his…
Although a sea of whisky filled each lung,
just to console the living, but his tonguewas heavy as a stone inside the grave.
(Serbia 1999)
How to explain?Suddenlyshe lies in painamid debris―orphaned fingers,blood-stained blouse―a scream that lingersin her razed house.A girl who talksto bleeding palms―around her blocksand carpet bombs.2.A pilot shroudsthe truth and smilesamid the cloudsthree hundred milesback home to base.He cannot tellwhich was whose face.High over hell,his stealth’s black wingsstill mock the night,and fallen thingsin morning light.
‘The massacres of Poles in Volhynia and Eastern Galicia were part of an ethnic cleansing operation carried out in Nazi German-occupied Poland by the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA) against Poles in the area of Volhynia, Polesia, Lublin region and Eastern Galicia beginning in 1943 and lasting up to 1945 The peak of the genocide took place in July and August 1943. Most of the victims were women and children UPA’s methods were particularly brutal, with many of the victims being tortured and mutilated, and resulted in 40,000-60,000 Polish deaths in Volhynia and 30,000-40,000 in Eastern Galicia, with the other regions for the total about 100,000.’
white horses neigh a yard away.Skulless, trusting, without fail,he’ll never rise to tell todayof slaughter: bodies split in two,skin stripped from bone, heads chopped off withcrude peasant axes, country stewin kettles, Jews praying at Sabbath.Father, Abba, whom to blame?The wolf, the badger, fox or hawk?In verdant valleys of the lamethe bearded priests no longer talk.10…
A cuckservative wooed the vote of Diego,
The Koch brothers offered him a lump,and then along came Donald Trumpto put an end to Pinko correctness.Careless with words? The effect was:the return of our beloved free speech,and fewer burritos on the beach.
A mackerel sky, a blood-orange sun,
and thieving magpies, hell-mirroring rooks,behind an old woman’s whispers and sighs—sooty bricks with barbs around her heartas she limps by, and I stop to jot it down.