by Runa Svetlikova


We tripped over the edge, were pushed

or let go tried to save ourselves.


The perps are at their best when you love them

the love then gnaws its way in

like semen does into an egg. Revolt


will only hurt ourselves. There is no black and white

we flutter with clipped stumps it’s just conception.


There are no victims.

There is no perpetrator.

There is just posterity.

Translated by Willem Groenewegen