Friday, May 15, 2015

Mikhail Bulgakov

Mikhail Bulgakov

Furious, devil-growl thunder to a threadbare east,
cartoonish voices on crackle-patriotic television....

Kiev: May Day afternoon.  Your yellow-rose house
casts a pale shadow for the drunk and fevered.
They're selling potatoes, painted rugs, old shoes,
manuscript ashes on a street of broken stones.

In Moscow they peddle CD's of Joe Stalin singing...
"Suliko," We're alone... among the thorns of the bush.

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