hana

needle always points
this way, not the other way
life, straight and simple

tapping glass facade
with a time-worn forefinger
for something has changed

north has gone astray
besotted with fragrant air
cherry blossom front

thread follows needle
pilgrims wander to the east
archipelago

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

life and death in khánh hòa

the cereal killer died as he’d lived
slaying bowls at a time with cold precision
of course, it wasn’t his decision
it was an early childhood trauma
(as is usual with these kinds of people)
he’d build mounds of corn flakes like a steeple
’til mother beat him for playing with his food
so he grew to hate milk and processed grain
carried all his life this exquisite pain
he thus learned to be an agronomist
well actually, he poisoned the earth
from corner to corner, along its girth
and he tied the cows’ tails in bundles
so they mooed and lost their milk
then life from that point went smooth as silk
until one fateful day in vietnam
he thought he saw a bowl floating in the cream storage vat
but it was his boss’s wife in an oriental rice hat
having a soak, if you please, to nourish her skin
not realising this, he moved in for the kill…
then her voice sounded, agonised and shrill
then the boss busted into the barn with a big gun
boom! boom! then blood flowed like red cordial through a sieve
that stupid cereal killer died as he’d lived

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

are you worse than everyone else?

metropolises are so fucking prepared
for loneliness
every park and every embankment
every wet bench up an empty avenue
these are for your disposal

you are worse than others if
they choose them rather than you but
what about if
they do choose loneliness rather than you?
are you worse than everyone else?

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2021

still

poetry is cold and empty like outer space
like voracious cronus who devours his own sons
no matter how many verses you’ve thrown to the gorge
it burps out, calling for more

poetry is cold and empty like outer space
there are always moons where no foot may tread
no matter how loud you’ve shouted to the craters
it echoes out, calling for more

poetry is cold and empty like outer space
stellar wind drives tumbleweeds through the milky way
no matter how far you’ve overstepped the bounds
it erases out, calling for more

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2021