A SLOT IN THE WALL
A NARROW MOUTH
SPITTING BOTTLES
WITHOUT MEMORY
WITHOUT RECORD
MY FATHER AND I
DRINK INTO THE COLD
FEBRUARY
TIGHTENS THE BODY
LIKE A CLOSED FIST
AT SOME POINT
I OPEN THE SCREEN
A SMALLER MOUTH
INSIDE MY HAND
IT SPEAKS ME BACK
TO MYSELF
I TRY TO READ
THE—
THE POEM
SMELLS OF LIFE
THE POEM
SMELLS OF ROT
TWO FIGURES LISTEN
UNHOUSED
I TELL THEM
THE INTERNET IS MY ONLY HOME
I SAY IT
AS IF IT COULD SHELTER ME
THEY LOOK AT ME
AND FOR A MOMENT
I AM ALMOST
TAKEN IN
IT IS NOW MAY
TRAUER UND MELANCHOLIE
FUNERAL LUNCHEON
I LONG
FOR THE WARM EMBRACE
OF NAČNYKAS
Greta Kaluževičiūtė’s work has appeared in Hobart Pulp, Expat Press and Do Not Submit.