THE EXILE DIARIES
23rd of February
White, swollen moon
like the belly
of the drowned.
Things will be alright,
Manolis said.
Manolis had a good heart.
Manolis
deep in the water
among the blind seaweed.
24th of February
The flashlight glows onto
two broken arms
and you couldn’t tell whether
the broken leg was yours.
It was when we met
under the big wall
each of us straddling
that broken leg that belonged to us.
Sound of Gas
That day, we were all busy: the burial, the inheritance; however, in each house, where one dies, suddenly, a grown child stands at the top of the stairs and looks around awkwardly as if he has to restore something; no one, of course, paid attention to him, and only the strange woman smiled at him as she placed the flowers inside the mysterious shadow where perhaps we had forever remained, and I remembered the room with the echo of gas when they hurriedly brought me in a child bloodied by the wheels of the car, the same woman had come in almost unnoticed, and then my eyes fell on the window where the curtains were in attention as if they also had to endure this.
Hunters
Two triggers of men with rifles
one’s finger trembles, squeezing
as he sees on crosshairs
the lone buck
the other’s finger caressing his fear
targets body of poacher
who hunts off season
two triggers summoned
to synchronize the jerking
motion of pulling when tree leaves
fall dancing peripherally
toward earth and sound at the speed
of death travels to living beings
unfamiliarly dealing them
to Hades adobe, two triggers
squeezed, pulled, bullets guided to
the heart of the matter as another
exhibit over fireplace will add
to deadly aspiration of two men
shooting Thanatos to two hearts
