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Day grows darker
And darker.
Mobs are advancing on the town,
Mobs clotted with blood,
Made remorseless by killing children,
Lustfully they advance,
To rip off heads,
Feeble, melancholy heads.
They…
For some the now is good enough—and that is fine for them!But what shall I dowhen I alwayssee before mephosphorescent questions flashing:Where?Where to?I am ready tiredof hovering,of flickering,of…
Out of frayed sackcloth—breasts of filthy cataracts,
Like raw potatoes, branched with rooted blue veins.
What shall we trade? Salt? How much do you want?
There’s a dead child’s hat still here.
In…
A Gift to Hofshteyn
[ . . . ] And we get out of their way; we move in the opposite direction, toward where they’ve come from, toward Petroshi.And you see, they do not forbid it. And it may be that in Petroshi, where they…
After you, the killed of the Ukraine;After you, butcheredIn a mound in Gorodishche,The Dnieper town . . .KaddishNo! Heavenly tallow, don’t lick my gummy beards.Out of my mouth’s brown streams of…