“This Simple Machine,” a Poem By Daniel Moysaenko

this messy machine
a body peeking
out and oozing
at land’s hem
blinded by sun glare
on grass
mistaken for powder
snow the whole town
ashy with heat
like what is branded of
winter blanketed
barely noticed
what matter
of what matters
is true or bogus
what happened
with what words
gunpoint at the gate
kradene or
shuttled inside
a pomylka
rumbling night
the pink earpiece
a translator whispers
a treaty through
to go back past
stories to more
elemental facts
like Ukraine
color of blood cake
and hands in it
the way a doctor studies
a loved one
as a stranger
who comes to him worried
about the body they’ve found
themselves in
as cupping snow
before it melts
or sun on snow
that illusions
just make you look
away

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From Overtakelessness. Used with the permission of the publisher, Graywolf Press. Copyright © 2026 by Daniel Moysaenko