Untitled #1

Poem By Algimantas Mackus

Green all green
as I want the green
to cover a fading pale
bathos of birch
in the coarse homespun
of a northern moon.

Sharp as sharp
as I want the one sharp
crack of doom it takes
to wash a body
God dreamed up by force
over into dream-shade.

Quick so quick
I want it to be this quick
ice-slick
moonbeam noose
around a head dull to the pain
of cracking up.

Black on black
for I want just the black
the cusps of one moon
can enclose of a dream
from the wreck breaking up
on God's solid mass.

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Dying Is Strange

The one night I got to spend enjoying spring
would have to be the one I hit the dirt,
though the dew had turned green earlier,
much greener than anything that spring.

In Triumph

And death won't be won over.
Dead men don't turn back
once their elbows prop rubble,
with the north moon's north eye

From A Misty Autumn Morning

I never loved the earth.
I meant to leave it
to its loneliness.

In Mourning

Right at seven that morning
right then at seven a.m.
it was that morning at seven
death had to have homage shown.

Jurek

I would lift your body into the crown of a green tree
if I had a tree
greening.

Talk About The Dead Being Born

Here's one place torture broke down.
I frown and am reassured
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Gott mit uns.