Corrugated box with floppy wings
howling from a gape-that
mournful dog.
My duty
manifests threads
unraveled by revelation
in Svetlana's isolated face laminated
on cardboard, pleading with me to
share a phantom dance as
her tension wanders in tepid
waters; distance compels skating
ambition until scandalous betrayal
spits brutal retribution, jealous
rage and sharpened jabs to expel
vicious silence.
He debates the
scoundrel in the mirror, eyes
defiant: refuse to surrender,
shred the doll and bundle
those discarded husks,
conceal the torment-
shed the flesh
down the
drain
to Truman Reservoir.
Daddy guards your journey
never vanquished,
yet balking,
Svetlana’s skull in
the trunk-
a boulder
too great to throw.
'Mommy will be okay, '
pins down his mantra.
Mercy secures wings
with a blabbering
tape gun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem