belarus
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Valzhyna Mort & Henri Cartier-Bresson, Postcoital
violent global apocalypsearen’t you worried brrthe mirror ball playing with the toddlerin the parking lotso meaningless: music in the air there is no belarusianversion of this poemshe turns the therapist to 11 we no longer think in colorthere’s only colddark and not dark the prism handles the restthe first third and fifth courseare the cheapest…
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“The Sausage Master of Minsk” by August Kleinzahler
I was sausage master of Minsk; young girls brought parsley to my shop and watched as I ground coriander, garlic and calves’ hearts. At harvest time they’d come with sheaves: hags in babushkas, girls plump as quail, wrapped in bright tunics, switching the flanks of oxen. Each to the other, beast and woman, goggle-eyed at…
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