MUSABEGOVIC'S OSWEICIM

Where flesh

and mind

in Eichmann's windows

close forever

numbers become names

by doors of smoke

in wake up calls

on nights when

a child is sentenced
for the day's flames

only dying souls rest

on their memory

while the devil in men

on history's programmed

plan of Mein Kampf

is ahead of schedule

as new shipments arrive

in perfect German
drive time

the smoke filled columns

of stacked bodies

where none

of the anonymous survive

touch no caress

of misgivings

as numbers of guards

and stately bureaucrats

petty once pretty gals,

dirty blonde secretaries

from Bavarian towns

with paper in hand

cannot care to calculate

each human fate

awaiting the fascist fire

prepared before 

in foundation of the state

as the world

slumbers in disbelief.