Nemesis never sleeps from afar
on the parched meadow she looks
like a dog-hearted, diarrheic
cow,
and when she comes among people
she incarnates as some actress
or a crazy whore-poetess
who competes with Sappho,
she rarely preaches about death,
humble yet she is also a specimen
of phallic pride with diabetes
and a white chamber pot,
with a geometric, defunct face,
but inside her knives, axes,
and machetes are sharpened
and she is filled with the most
powerful explosive with uranium
and plutonium, she has a boreal
spectrum, in her eyes, gold burns
and the white of the snow is
consumed,
her mute mouth tells us that we
will
know what we die for and not just
for the sake of death. Therefore,
ye children, come ye, wage ye
earth-shattering wars, perpetrate
ye
swampy massacres, commit ye
crimes of peace, crimes of war,
crimes of greed, crimes of
madness,
suck ye the blood of the weak,
rob ye them – and so one dies
every moment and Nemesis
notes it down paragraph
after paragraph, she balances
the scales and begins the giant
harvests she scythes down
every beast who fed on crime
and plunder blood flows in waves
until the balance is restored
and everyone has paid their debt
and Nemesis goes then to a
literary
circle to read her verses
while the survivors resolve their
contradiction under the sheets.

