poems by Anna Idelevich

  1. Fiberglass sandwich


Inflated invalids

clouds in mind mutilation cry, ides

March did not take offences.

and fatal events did not happen.

But you and I don’t pretend

wrapped all oxides in the noise of poplars –

aluminum, barium and graphite

still with iron, magnesium, magnets

such that even my cheekbones crumpled.

And wound oxidase, bestiality deceit

will remind you that the soul is pure, where you are drunk with air.

And the sun wheel on an odd number,

and maybe even, he will tell us that stop spinning evil,

we ourselves are covered with frost individuals,

from fiberglass everything that could live.

Sacred beginning at the clouds of Rosalia,

rains on reality we breathe, craft

like a sandwich is stale, but we are wilder

and it hurts worse, we were swept into the abyss.




  1. Reggae of the sun-dried tomatoes


The video frame scans the image of recent years,

sharply tearing the edges like a swordfish,

chewing somewhere, spitting somewhere,

but there is still light at the end.


We grew up, above steel,

yes, and adulthood also passed,

marijuana, lazy rainy mists,

left a few tears in the dew

forced the whole world to divide by seven,

even a topic was raised about the hippopotamus,

which did not fall anywhere, but there was a swamp,

reeds, red beard, and to it a hippopotamus.

Whatever nature comes up with.

Mirrors gleamed everywhere

and today sun-dried tomatoes,

oils, oils, oils.

I am writing to you. Growing, but not grown up, how are you?


A sparse wire mesh separated us.

First, we looked at each other

and then they began to climb freely.

We do not live away from worldly storms,

but fragility in large raindrops that wake up,

messy, every day is done for pleasure.

My friends would tell me

that you’re a bad influence on me

but I have no friends but you.




  1. Mindreader


Today people are happy

even though the sky is kneading kissels

on rainy, summer water.

Umbrellas bright colors

roadside dust and dirt

at my feet everywhere

spray, happy too,

not keep balance

and no need for everyone

walk straight and don’t,

legends and attics,

to be near

today, now, and everywhere.

Mindreader sent me a postcard.




  1. Gladiolus


Reality floated

steam rises from the palms.

And things like that…

And for a fairy tale, you don’t need a big mind,

need the sky in vain,

clouds between us connected

and aircraft cetacean ship,

that floats and does not see the stars of dirt,

no matter what anyone else said.

You told me: “Drink!”

And I can’t drink to the bottom,

sip, days

and nights I see dots, getting sick.

I see rays of light

that, resigning themselves to the night, they become leaner,

I see the pollination of the fields

light on the balcony, Romeo.

Knocking on God, sometimes he says: “Busy”

well, I mean, not in the toilet, but he has some kind of conference,

he takes turns, by zoom, anxious people,

answers their requests, conversation is a panacea for everything.

And I am Julia, then Suzanne, then Eve the primordial,

I imagine myself like this, I knock on you,

rather to him

and he says to me: “My membrane is tender, membrane,

filled with love, I haven’t called you back yet,

wait.” And I’m waiting, in principle there is no hurry,

I can wait for the zoom of burrs and tricky pretzels.

Gladiolus grew in a vase

xiphoid leaves look quite …

I don’t hang out with other people,

I don’t learn from someone who doesn’t

knows the names of the people-leaves of auspicious days.




  1. Cream of night confusion


They will sit in a circle, the moon will shine,

pillars of fire will rise from the chairs.

The exultation of the spirits on the verge of a rain of change.


Will rush into the darkness with the boundaries of wine,

to be alive, to be kept by the word interest

scarlet rose in fragments and windows, and drizzle of walls.


Let Moses come, let the desert be full

sleepy manna, let it suffice for all the mutilated.


May health and goodness, still silence,

let the farewell be with sips of wine

a little lighter, and an orange will rise in slices of the sun.

poems by Anna Idelevich

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