poems by Mykyta Ryzhykh

1

the lonely grove grew for the dead

here glass of grave drowned in died grass

and everywhere red rederry instead green greenery

fallen leaves crunch underfoot

someones bones crunch underfoot

someones souls crunch underfoot

this crunch sounds inside

this rib hurts inside

these are thoughts rotting inside the skull

іm learning to swim in transparent silence

im learning to die in the lonely blue

і teach my eyes to sleep

 

 

2

Say goodbye to your Sudetenland, German

You’re German, which means you’re a little Hitler

You should return home to Germany

You must return home to non-Germany

Germany no longer exists (but do Germans still exist?)

Sudetes are not cutlets that can be baked

Screams can be baked, silence can be baked

The Germans are going home to a destroyed Germany

The Sudetenland will never go home to Germany

Carts and tears are ready for relocation

The Sudetenland sounds very poetic in Germanic

The Sudetenland will never sound Germanic again

Mom why Hitler was German mom why we are Germans

Mom why do they hate us mom why nothing changes

After so many years, Hitler walks on the planet’s saucer

My cat has a mustache like Hitler, my dog is silent like Hitler

What are personal boundaries, what are state boundaries

Mom, I always knew that sooner or later we would all be shot.

Mom, we staged a holocaust, they staged a holocaust against us

Mom, I can’t count, I only know how to build nuclear bombs

Can someone count the number of hydrogen bombs?

How to count the screams in Hiroshima, how to pray for Auschwitz

It is impossible to forget how humanity is melting

Black migrants drown in the gelatin of murder

White-skinned cisgender men are drowning in the gelatin of war

Gays are drowning in everything at the same time it hurts

Too much blood too loud silence

Weapons are knocking on the iron door of an armless veteran

Who will open the doors on this last night? Who will judge whom? Who will forgive whom?

 

 

3

The blood of the water is absorbed by a stranger with a platinum face

The tub of the night is torn into shreds of shame

 

What do we drink while feeling the sticky orgasm of the gaze with our

fingers

You try to cum on me as fast as possible during aerial bombing

 

 

4

I don’t even know your name, but I know that death with cast iron eyes awaits you here. Long night for knowledge. You learn from your hands. You teach your hands. You learn phantom pain. You teach phantom limbs to tremble. Cold is a teacher. You learn the cold, although war is hot. Thousands of hot suns in one small bullet. Metal is unteachable and guns shoot at random. Metal doesn’t teach you anything. The throat of the school, crushed by the noise, turns red. The ruins of the school are covered with flowers. The cemetery of school is buried. Cemetery buried. There is nowhere to bury the dead. There is nowhere to hide the dead. A homeless angel with greedy eyes for silence sits on your shoulder. You tremble as if during an explosion. Then you fall asleep again in the apostle’s arms. The night falls asleep in the eyes of the dying man. Everything around is saturated with the mold of history. Dogs on the ruins are trying to mate. The nameless world falls asleep.

 

 

5

Snowflake bones

People hashtags

 

The madness of the grass in which we were born

The silence of the grass in which we will be buried

 

The madness of the glass in which we swim

The toothless glass in which we bleed

 

Trauma in the belly of the night

Hope for the morning that will judge everything

 

poems by Mykyta Ryzhykh

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