After the War
by John Amen

    I cover myself with Jewish symbols,
    paint my scrotum green,
    drag the blade across my torso
    as slowly as a turtle crossing a highway.

    I am mixing ink
    from phlegm, feces, blood.
    This is what I will use
    to write my manifesto.

    The ones who went before me,
    who tumbled into pits, are waiting.

    They stand in a meadow,
    staring at the red sky.
    Behind them is a great city;
    a place, perhaps, called heaven.

    It is burning, and everyone knows
    God is the one who struck the match.





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