The Gallery
Every coupla years
another
nazi war criminal
stumbles
out of
South America.
Today,
Josef Schammberger
rolled over
in the weight
of crippled memory,
in a peeling paint
plaster scabbed
room
in Argentina;
slow flies
drunk
with humidity
rolled
against the pane.
Today was the day, TODAY,
faces scream truth,
a geology of flesh,
we all must
pass through
the gallery,
eating portraits
of those
that once
stood
before us.
