Anachronic Read online



  Wind counts on leaves

  When chooses the destination to fly,

  His voice - a question

  Sad Rain basalt,

  Reflecting his name in the air,

  Run, put my foot, I climb,

  But, do not want, want another ...

  Glazed with hours,

  Eternal struggle

  With blindfolded birds ...

  My voice break in whispers,

  Tear Second fears,

  Melting itself ...

  words complain

  In the corners of the house,

  because pride

  To remain untold

  It corrupts ...

  Discussion like secretion

  Work has been placed.

     pant;

  As a stop two worlds intolerable;

  Its color - question gasped,

  How? - Slogans ...

  As a cessation of speech

  questions

  slogans

  Work. works

  Talk like a secret;

  cemeteries

  Heroes, immortality

  Color, sound, question,

  "Workers, pant it?"

  bucolic

     Smoke, vodka

  Sprinkled with stars,

  Hands, radiator,

           jazz,

  Flowers, bottles

  Couch full of magazines,

  Ten, twelve books

  A corner and a pair embraced

  However there's still life ...

  Janis

  The hours rip the beauty in two

  Janis awakens from posters

  Inherent rains creep between us ,

  Bizarre using telephone coin;

  Cigarette smoke in circles arising

  Someone invents the primordial kiss

  Janis dripping from poster

  N dirty absorbed daily;

  The Highway is lost among deads

  Still ask, "Have you seen a blondie?"

  The world's wild silent,

  Why should understand, that it come?

  never spoken

  Butterflies die biting

  Like stars burning

  Predicting the apocalypse ...

  A thought never uttered

  Always gives prevaricate,

  Just as the ocean

  Get in his arms

  Hope silence ...

  20

  I'm sad and lonely birthday,

  I’m melancholic, painful and bizarre

  I touch my soul - is cold!

  And I shudder, poor wanderer ...

  Vanity I am and fear,

  I’m funny when I am wanton,

  I’m humility and foam

  And linger in a hospital ...

  Gray are my hair and less often,

  What would I be hiding from a particularly

  With everyone, else I would not a glow ...

  And like the wolf in a sheepfold

  Expect the fulfillment second,

  And not coming would take her to hell

  Begging the time for redemption ...

  allegorical breathe

  Confuse and anchorite,

  In a world of saints

  Where everyone thinks he's a star ...

  My fear not pain,

  No misery blind

  My fear is not honey

  S nothing a sip ...

  Sin! - what word

  Conceived of Scripture,

  Is it really any holy

  Up hope in the flesh?

  Temptation! - What dark

  Call today upon raising,

  Even in the Gothic novel

  Exist the happiness ...

  Vain cry now

  When all it is not,

  There remained only smoke

  And there is no one word ......

  Boulevard of dreams

  Invariably I said "two"

  Of both was going crazy;

  We then went for a walk,

  I do not remember you being given a flower;

  It was the evenings, is it?

  You were sad like a bad news,

  I smiled not without "color"

  What would be a refreshing drink?

  Boulevard was loud, dumb,

  Just like a council meetings;

  Later a man with a guitar

  "Sing me something for a rusted penny!"

  And you tell me, "What do you care?

  Poor stupid in a cage? "

  Below screaming lungs ached each

  (but you morons understand ...) _

  "O that marvelous country, sad but full with humorous"

  remember, was right in front of the "Crane"

  where someone did that sells

  but in no case food.

  In cinema was a movie with Delon

  Keep it with you intent on Bronson

  be!

  (But in passing will not tell me ! ...)

  And into a later we returned home,

  I in my bed, you at the table

  I in thought, you at the typewriter,

  And then, it looks like a dream?

  seven centuries

  Seven cigarettes I smoked tonight,

  Seven crosses on one tomb,

  I'm do not need fanfare

  because I am a man, not I’m a saint ...

  seven fragrant coffins

  no smell of carrion but the ordeal,

  I saw mongst the locked doors

  I tasted the bitter apricot ...

  and yet today through seven centuries passed,

  My dreams embedded in sleep

  I troubadour without soul and mouth

  I’m not a spirit, I can say that I‘m a man?

  reminiscence

  Our mind born

  Thousands of theories,

  But one is

  Right to love;

  Our bad mind

  Gemstones hampered,

  In calvary cross

  Jesus left.

  Our body requires

  sensuality

  As we struggle Lord,

  For voluptuous ...

  To garbage memory

  I searched in the pharmacy Dreams

  a cure

  Rebel apothecary said dryly:

  "Your illness does not make sense, point and price ..."

  I tried it the ultimate cure

  of despair ...

  that I expected

  like a Neven response,

  like a thought that

  baby,

  try it hurled

  to garbage memory ...