Regular Battles
They went out at dawn, almost drunk. They sat on a line
and relieved themselves on the dry grass. They weren’t
looking at each other; they were looking at the faraway
horizon, they talked dirty words, they cursed, a relative
perhaps they wished to take revenge or death. You didn’t
know whether they were peeing or masturbating. They
delayed. Opposite them, the horizon was getting rosy. When
they stood up they looked tired, in a hurry. Their belts,
made of black leather and metal rings, were hung over
their necks ringing like rams.
Mayanaam
vequinox
Manolis 