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THIS BODY HAS TASTED CHERNOBYL SHAKEN NOT STIRRED by Mark Hammerschick

Pool…

Vengeful sun relentless

knowing how it emanates

solar radiation cruelly deviant

knowing that each of us

radiates infinitely

pulse pulse

it’s a wave rave

gamma, x, radio and ultraviolet

piercing bloated brains

sizzling pig fat on the spit

like Sylvia I know that

“Dying

Is an art, like everything else.

I do it exceptionally well.”

Eat of my body, drink my blood

splintered veins translucently cancerous

waves and waves

incessant

glandular blue like varicose veins

bulging, pulsing, shrieking

like someone who does not go gently

traversing a body

riddled with lightning strikes.

This body has tasted Chernobyl

shaken not stirred

balanced on edges of serrated flesh

like hitting Omaha beach

Herr Doktor’s troops in the hedges

with 88 mm guns

hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah

the Rhine Wein troops

are drunk on Gluhwein

like me drunk on Revlimid

though the beach I’m on is black

like Punaluʻu Beach, slate grey obsidian shards

slicing putrid raw jowls

slick with succulents

like that time I was nine

on the dirt bike as I hit the edge

of the ravine

and plummeted into air

Superman … Supernova

hanging ten on that rogue wave.

Mark is 60 and has been writing for 50 years, he lives in a north shore suburb of Chicago. His professional life has been consumed with working on websites and digital content and has had a variety of roles in online digital endeavors over the years.

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