[It doesn't work this way—] Poem by Maya Sarishvili

It doesn't work this way—
even when you knock down an entire forest,
you won't find a single root anywhere.
When not fixed to the earth, the universe
is a nightmare.
Towns float atop asphalt,
seas harden.
Wherever the earth collapses,
it drifts away—
like enormous razors
sliding uncontrollably.
And how enthusiastically we all strip
our bodies
one by one of the ancient veins—
and soon enough
even the bees can't sting our ceramic children
any longer, children meant to be displayed
on top of grand pianos…