to Yevgeny Vitishko
There are many in Athens who’d rather not hear you
Plato, perhaps. And Putin.
Judges in Sochi (policemen, too).
Go back to your Sunday tea, they pray.
Give it a rest. Poetry
in polite society
is not taken seriously – & hurray
for that! expound the hoi-polloi.
Punctiliousness is de rigueur
whatever that means. Sure,
it’s about stuff that matters... oh boy.
Show me the riot. What’s your game?
Causeries des chimps.
Gambling works – hence the
full Monty (my life, sorry). Shame
on innocence, or chumps. Sex
is Pharaoh’s mask, Yahweh’s unisex,
anyone who genuflects
otherwise... go figure! What next?
A naked lancer skims toward Thermopylae.
Naiads flank across frozen
lake. Siberian ozone...
Pyrrhic destination, puppy. Hey,
my soul’s on fire. Let’s put ‘em there,
where they won’t cause no trouble.
All’s Romany rust or ruble,
Homs, seriozhne. Griots vein stolen air.