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Anton Yakovlev


CHICKEN

Like any other day, the country was troubled,
flapping its upside-down flags from the shotgun poles.
We needed to test how much we meant to each other
and drove each other off the cliff. The corpse
we landed on didn't smell yet, which was bizarre,
as it had lain there for at least two hundred
years, and even longer according to some.
Windshield wipers waved relentlessly,
and beauty never came to the rescue.
Years later, the dog keeps whistling.
Who won? Unrequited rhetorical
questions provide their own orgasm.



SINCE HIS SUICIDE

You said we were all better off I couldn’t recall

his eyes My cheapest rental

up the gravel road Hanging

by fire forever I saw him in skeleton sweat

Noose on his neck Tourists gathered

screaming reviews He used to bark to himself

Flooded the streets Now you told me

we all missed him too much Your sunglasses gleamed

Fire under the door His body shaking


EUROPEAN HISTORY IN SYMBOLS

Guillotine here
guillotine there

and there

and there

and there

and here
and here

and here

and




Anton Yakovlev's latest chapbook Chronos Dines Alone, winner of the James Tate Poetry Prize 2018, was published by SurVision Books. He is also the author of Ordinary Impalers (Kelsay Books, 2017) and two prior chapbooks. His poems have appeared in The New Yorker, The Hopkins Review, Measure, Amarillo Bay, and elsewhere. The Last Poet of the Village, a book of translations of poetry by Sergei Yesenin, is forthcoming from Sensitive Skin Books.
 
 
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