sooooooooooooo tired

and have been writing Russian monologues all day. so cut me a little slack today, beloveds.


Towards Some Resolution of the Old Questions

I wanted to write some resolution of the old questions,
some Slavic Eden
where the new two sprang up white without patronymics,
and the great commingling that birthed us
was only a measure against the cold,
and far to the east the great powers moved
through huge unpeopled streets--
and the blank steppe hurled its body up
into the sky which never had a name,
to fall into the heavy shapes of plums,
the rigid bones of queens, white teeth,
and roots that flare far enough into the earth
to tap a vein of flame,
burn high, and like a bell
moan a long and acrid note into the wind.