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Mother Russia and the War-Zone Pokemon
Playing Pokemon Go
In the rubbles of Aleppo
We are the lavender menace
Blackmailed for our backroom kisses
Between the stocking crates, the towers of paper napkis
shoulder blades like hatchling’s wings as we cradle
Hands ramble over tussocks of conversation
Like the ant that bumbles
Over twisted rebar jutting from concrete like bone from a carcass
Squirtle beckons, you can spawn anywhere
Bubbling up like mushrooms from some great web of mycelium underground
Osmar Nasqueen is bleeding and bewildered and covered with dust
Russia, give us your gay eggs
Ala shard, meet me on the banks of the river styx
Where we do trust falls, team bonding circles in the corridors of institutional isis
Stealing names from egyptian goddesses and speckling with with the guts of kurdish, rebels
Toss the pokeball proxy war
We superimpose fantasy battles over real ground
No communists, my hands are only real when they’re on your breasts
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I don't know where, but in the summer of 2016 I saw a photograph of a little boy playing Pokemon Go in a bombed-out building.