for he is no one


we do not hear him for he is no one observable

his art is the mystery we seek for he is the power

of something extremely delicate and ignoble

a conductor and composer of delusional grandeur

made manifest in our minds and in our sleep

a ringleader of fables and white lights contrasting dark


we do not hear him for he is no one found at extreme

times and times when we are ants on his hill

his engineering of infrastructure is our darkest hour

and though the words be mad he is among you

and me and escapes into lordship and piety


we do not hear him though he sings our country’s song

and has a sublime monster on his shoulder

of which we dimly recognize for it is the source of our hope

and our loss and grave is the day we see such terror

we do not hear him though his footsteps are loud

coming and going ruthlessly through civilized moments


we do not hear him though we want our babies to live

without his finger on their temples and though he corrupts

maniacs die when they have stood up to him

we do not hear him for hers is our graceful requiem

each night that keeps the breath animate





    a ballet


at the heights of his bunkered hill

twirling his mustache like Dali

Stalin beholds a child on his knee


and looking up at the dictator with snowy eyes

twinkling from some glacial mountain top

the little boy smiles


their union endears as we starve


the nanny arrives

and Stalin pretends she steals him

pretends that a ballet is performed

where the little one is abandoning him

and he holds his fist up

with all the power of gods told


and the boy leaves with the nanny

while Stalin sips vodka cold

points a pistol at a flag

and their union was a presence

as a shadow is present


Stalin then looks out of the bunker

window at the snow falling as quaint

as flecks of ash and drifts






  in which treats the flies


the civilizing faces you

and you like a good servant kneel

or blow a cock

or set fire to your own house


the civilizing faces you

and you like a good mustache twirl

or dance with a martini

or hold a meeting with like minds


in which treats the alien

from the cityscape

in which treats the naked witch

who swims with devils and angels

in which treats the mad

through the gates near the noose


the civilizing faces you

and you like a good thief keep your fingers


or pawn your family

or build a highway through graveyards


in which treats the machine

who stalks your hand

in which treats the flies

who juggle fish

in which treats the lobster

who texts gospels


the civilizing faces you

and before you know it

you are the president

of an asteroid





        here lay nobody


the lords prevail as brutes smile drunk

but genius is the maestro of them all

and I swear on my country’s grave

that revolution was but a stepping stone

for him

but did I see him?

A stout man no doubt

in the distance mythos but a joke

he liked to laugh

big gut laughs in the nihilism of conquest

but did I see him?

A hairy ton but shrewd enough to know when to


and knocking out party after party

and peoples after peoples

under the radar of everyone but privy

like some submarine sitting at the center of the ocean

and at the center of our eyes

but did I truly see him?

Victors like these rarely come around

and rise before our eyes as champions

and do we trust him?

We are not naïve

yet here lay nobody

that no one saw

written forever on the walls of titans