Wednesday, October 19, 2011

A Presidential Epigram

A Presidential Epigram

- after Mandelstam

we live without feeling
the border between us

and our feet do not touch the ground

listen -
our voices are accent-less
and the echo of money
is like the sound of rigging in the wind

the talk of any small-town is the Áras
and the one who chuckles

shall he ascend -
his bloodied hands unseen
boots put away
worms rising

his words are like anchors

circled by snivelling and mewling henchmen
he flings decrees like horseshoes -
you get it in the balls
the temple
between the eyes

like poisoned berries
he spits each execution from his mouth

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