Come! Let us bring genes out of the closet
Let us reach them to other lands, argots and worlds
KALININGRAD AMBER PARKMarion Poschmann
To the joyful and joy-bringing fight for the dominance of the garden! Hurrying on ahead, there,
Kalli followed me 8 miles
to the market where cattle were traded
or sold like slaves.
The nocturnal porcupine reclines here
Like an alluring grey bouquet
I dreamed that Kamtchatka
had broken off from the mainland
and was floating freely across
Before the garbage heap in the street
A hungry woman waits.
He admired the savagery of the platoon starving
for blood and glory, for the lives they took.
old Uyghur sellers
of secondhand goods
hands in pockets, sitting in a row
KATIA READINGRamón Cote Baraibar
There is no greater pleasure in life,
Katia, than spying on you
Boats wear beards under water,
strands of seaweed and algae, slowing them down
KEEP IN TOUCHTarannum Riyaz
One should keep meeting friends and phoning them
if one loses touch even for a few days
KEEP OFF THE GRASSMbuyiseni Oswald Mtshali
The grass is the green mat
trimmed with gladioli
red like flames in the furnace.
KEEP TO THISRogi Wieg
Only what’s left of you
at this funeral, only some flowers, and
a municipal poet, yes,
KEEPER OF THE ABSENTAndriana Škunca
The deserted house comes alive again, it opens and gives away
KEYNadia Adina Rose
I straighten out my mother
attach her to the backrest
fold her hands
KEY CHAINSBorben Vladović
The little shop on a steep street
with the door-bell
playing Mozart’s music.
KIEV, UKRAINE: APRIL 1980Dilip Chitre
It’s all mixed up: Vladimir, Yaroslav,
The skeletons of monks in the underground church,
Who, why, when, no one knows.
On the seashore waist deep in sand
The girl Kiki of Jade
KILLING TIMELars Gustafsson
The magazine was brick yellow and quickly read.
It was the cheapest thing in the company
KIOSK BY THE SEADurs Grünbein
Freedom – and the traffic carried on. The idea
Had taken hold en route. A tub of
sleeps on your lips,
glows beneath your
for a form, almost,
Drawers full of warm rollnecks
she knits and so tracks people
down who all the year
Father has returned from his office. Knives glitter in the hands of people in the street.
KNOCK KNOCKMostapha Samady
Knock knock knock
It's not the sound of the door
It's the music of the
Knowing someone is like buying another mirror for yourself
and another set of earphones, good
KNOWING DIRECTIONSManushya Puthiran
and return favours
do demean you a little.
so much sleep in only one tree,
so many gray globes
of fur in all the branches, a
I, Kohelet, was king of Jerusalem.
I really was.
Treading a thousand flowers en route
The simple branch and its adjectives: swaying,