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Sam Pereira

Thinking of Mayakovsky during the Days of the Little Napoleon, Putin, While the Wind Cries Mary


It’s madness being kissed

By a bat who claims

To have been given answers

In the middle of its radar last night

The kiss slowly seeps

Into the bloodstream

And I begin thinking


How Mayakovsky

Came to his revelations

About this particularly

Russian way of death


And how the bat

Disguised as a gun

Slipped into his room to scream



Live Update on the War


It was as plain as white on white

A sterile room filled with nurses

Holding band-aids to the sun


One kid after another

Plowing the proof under


In all of this a grand arsenal

Of cigarettes and tanks

Fueled by the obvious

Carbon dating of the wasted young

Any old fuck can tell the story

Of the dead at the end






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