by Frankie Metro
you look at me
like I’m a murderer
w/ your nazi eyes
glancing
in between the plot
against America
or some
phillip roth
s&m
grab-ass game
that ultimately ends
w/ Bolaño’s general
nailed to a cross,
& his genitals
flapping in
a rumanian wind
until the russians
invade
w/ the forked end
of a hammer
& a twinkle
in their sickle…
a tear in their iron.