TE15 Lithuanian Honey Cake

eight poems

he didn’t just shoot back then mouth – the narrow tunnel of an urn the corners of the mouth – a raised drawbridge for a smile

one confiscated lighter – a passport – 146 rubles – birth certificate – without which – he’s not born – can’t die – dead lips – thin vibrating stems of tracks stretching north ears – small oval – those of an owl having returned from Vorkuta – he took me for rides on an Ural motorbike with a yellow construction helmet – he gave me a 50 ruble note with the raw flounder of Lenin’s head – he fed the cows Dutch tulips and the fingers of his left hand don’t straighten – pressed into a fist – – – – – and – now – somewhere – in the cemetary SO SCRAPE ME ONE LIKE THAT – I’ll pay engrave the memorial with – DIED – CIRRHOSIS – MY PALM BECOME A FIST – A BULLET HITTING STONE – RETURNED TO ITS SHELL

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