Issue
#4

July
2009

a poem by M.P. Powers

Bolshevik

gazing at my frugal wardrobe
slumped hideously over the clotheshangers
in my closet
reminds me of communism
and soft atrocities
oppressively worn. they will wear my ghost
again, the blanched colors of my plaid work shirts,
and the pants my apish trunk has tortured into
shapelessness,
will become me again, having borrowed moments
from my days which give them
meaning. they will riot and laugh and weep
upon my bones. but for now they just dangle
lifelessly
in my closet, like some part of me (my soul
or something) that has hanged
itself again.

© M.P. Powers

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