“mama is reading a history of russian death . . .”
translated by

mama is reading a history of russian death
I’m reading Paul B. Preciado
we’re both preparing to transition
at which stage do we turn the page
mama it’s not black and white
we’re the bad guys, we’re fools
it’s the phantoms in the kitchen
circling around your foot
there goes granny with her horns
here comes that faceless aunt
little people, common folk
read that tale to the end
breathe into the balmy wind
save it for a rainy day
one white night a dirty phantom
with the lilacs had his way
not at all white, death burns there
not at all bare, life stands there
I do not recognize this fatal fare
this taste of Pushkin in my mouth
Translation from the Russian