an online showcase curated by Maya Kóvskaya



by Peter Burzynski


How many have I done
from a mile away? Tell me

how is justice social?
Where is its media outcry?

I have worked since
I was eleven. I earned

a library as I spent
the last digits of my credit

rating. That is okay. Credit
is measured in different orbits:

obituaries, street sweepers,
gazebos, glaciers, antediluvian

slime. I wonder if it is the ink
or the drink that keeps me alive?

Who knew that liquid
was so crucial to present affairs

of biology? Solids and gases
can be editorialized, but liquid,

no. I will give you my squids
and octopi. Extract them!

I have decided. From this day
on, I shall exist as plasma.

I AM PLASMA. I am alone.
Good luck. I do not need luck.

I have double-downed
on overdraws. I have fed

a pack of domesticated monkeys.
What is the proper collective

noun for monkeys? Are there
specific nouns for collections

of specific monkeys? I do not
know. My internet tells me that

there are: A troop of baboons,
a band of gorillas, a whoop

of gorillas, a shrewdness of apes,
a barrel, a cartload, a tribe

of monkeys, an observance
of hermits, a hastiness of cooks,

a pandemonium, an ostentation,
a poverty, a parliament, a scourge,

a deceit, a rabble, a mob, a gang,
a warren, a harem, a convocation,

a flutter, a waddling, a bloat,
a siege, a congregation, a swarm,

a school of humans.
I have fed them all on my back.

I have been badger, snapping turtle,
lion, panther, bear, pigeon (unwashed

dove). The word is the same
in many tongues, not this one,

not this lish. I have recalculated
my lungs. I have quit. Rescinded,

come apart. This is my part.
Apart and broke, love. Why

resist calmness and seek
calamity in the undressed

concertina of groping
without gloves? The orchard

undoves itself. Hinged itself
upon an empty space, become

a virgin again. Sure, I have eaten
horsemeat. It is better than dung.



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