Vladimir Ussachevsky, 1911—1990
The night you died
you rushed into the apartment
where I was sorting your papers,
weary as the girl
who has until sunrise
to spin straw into gold.
In a disreputable black raincoat,
well-traveled,
you were your old-wo [...]
Poor baby, hold on;
poor sleepy baby, passed into my arms.
We are passing into hell; hold on.
We renounce the forces of evil
and you cry out.
Poor, sleepy baby,
wanting nothing more than the food
your mother has become
for you, wanting to go [...]
The dreamer descends through the basement to see what
was valuable in her inheritance.
Nor Hall, The Moon and the Virgin
Kneeling in the dust, I recall
the church in Enna, Sicily
where Ceres and Proserpine reigned
until a Pope kicked them out
in th [...]
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