Back Pocket Book Entry 16

And what else is it

that fertilizes this land

besides death

and defecation, oh kulaks?


How is it that those

of a certain faith


know when to pray


without a Call

being sent out,

without being heard

on the grass and

the soil?


Night, day and war

broken in pieces


to kneel

But oh kulaks,

only the earth-

and even that

was collected

for the state

to own


And yet,

somewhere besides

the peaches

and fallen Cossacks


there were poems.


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