Untitled #5

Poem By Algimantas Mackus

Tomorrow we go see you off
into the peaceful realm of the dead.
For now, we talk a whip-notched
language about to die out.

Ex-citizens of the state,
look closely into his death:
his fingers groped through
to the braille exile is.

Let your lifeless hand close
on our swollen palms,
and stroke on stroke we'll plow through
the spume of a dream we're locked into.

Ex-citizens of the state,
look closely into his death:
there's no comeback in his return
and with no comeback no turning back.

Tomorrow we go see you off
this galley of senseless pain.
Meanwhile, we're scanning the maps
for a time forever gone.

Ex-citizens of the state,
look closely into his death:
it was flesh changed to word
not the word made flesh.

Our moss-covered hands keep churning
the dream-foam over and over.
Mean with envy, our cries
go out with the barge as it fades.

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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
God is on our side.
Gott mit uns.