The bastards of the great whore with her hairy legs apart
On the endless Tartar
prairie, becoming a woman sutler,
Propping her soles against
the Carpathians and her butt
Against the sea, like a
mongrel among the weeds she gave
Birth to demented bastards
who changed the expression
On their face black,
yellow, grey, grayish-white and now
They haunt all the floors
of the power from top to bottom
With cock’s balls hopping
across the corpses keeping
The pierced farthing in
their beak, with shrunken livers
Of a hen rotten with crime
they croak in a rasping voice
Like some hags deploring
the dead story of happiness
And liberation desperately
scratching tabula rasa like
The jackdaw at the gut
they pull at the last one who
Stays in their throat, still
violently gasping with gravity
With the suffocated
gizzard grotesquely they praise the rags
Full of filth that flutter
in the windows the sign for the barbarians
Who arrived with great
delay with snuffling speech and
Partly open eyes looking
at the frightened crowd lisping,
“Si fasi, si fasi
hoziaika!“ And they split the skull
of the wise
And sad men with one
stroke of knife afterwards they kissed
The cateress for soldiers
on the thighs on the nape more gently
Than ever and now they
launch stupid campaigns to collect
Scrap metal that blinds
the mob hopping with the legs of a hen
Across the naked burning
butts that toss and turn beneath
The dirty sheets as on the
ploughland like the cock vomiting
Up two farthings from the
purse in the sun of the fratricidal
Sky sheep, oxen, bloated
fiends, learned dogs at whom
The barbarians of the sad towns
laugh under sly skies
You should submit to any
rule like a good Christian…,
The grey ruler says, with
a broad smile on his face claiming
Other strange and
wonderful things, too and the riff-raff
Talked behind him about
the fact that he may be mad,
But his snuffling words in
the name of this wonderful
Riff-raff make the mob and
the barbarians and the bastards
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