From Being Stalingrad to Nothingness

by Brett Stout

After she annexed her existence
and
the Crimea,

confessions as oxymoron’s
were written
in dead languages on
blank Post-It Notes
left in empty carriages
as the
broken dams filled with
neon ghetto trashcans
and urban rodent predators were
spraying
designer cologne on
me and in
the pages of
monthly corporate family
magazines,

celebrate the revolution
with blood soaked hands
and pinwheels
of death and mass genocide,

yellow ochre
primary red
black
and
lime green
paint strokes a social
but
distorted Tsarist serpent
circular
in diameter
hissing
and
rattling on waterproof
aged vintage notebook
paper,

bend me,
twist me,

scour me,
break me,

it
says to me
in a bourgeoisie Russian accent
I refuse
and sit in my leather
persecution chair
smoking cheap cigarettes
and
drinking purple Kool-Aid
out of a plastic blue cup
I sit
a long time
in my persecution chair
and then six
minutes later
out of extreme boredom and
curiosity
I decide to
accept
its invitation,

I bend it,
I twist it,
I scour it
I break it,

it is my own
now.

 

Artist: Indig0

Brett Stout is a 40-year-old writer and artist originally from Atlanta, GA. He is a high school dropout and former construction worker turned college graduate and paramedic. He writes now while mainly hung-over on white lined paper in a small cramped apartment in Myrtle Beach, SC. He has published several novels of prose and poetry including Lab Rat Manifesto, and has been featured in a vast range of various media including Brown University and the University of California.

IG