Mayakovsky's Revolver: Poems
Mayakovsky's Revolver: Poems
from "Mayakovsky's Revolver"
I keep thinking about the way
blackberries will make the mouth
of an eight year old look like he's a ghost
that's been shot in the face. In the dark I can see
my older brother walking through the tall brush
of his brain. I can see him standing
in the lobby of the hotel,
alone, crying along with the ice machine.
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from "Mayakovsky's Revolver"
I keep thinking about the way
blackberries will make the mouth
of an eight year old look like he's a ghost
that's been shot in the face. In the dark I can see
my older brother walking through the tall brush
of his brain. I can see him standing
in the lobby of the hotel,
alone, crying along with the ice machine.
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