My boy
my boyfriend says that he only falls in love with geniuses and I fall asleep in the crotch of a crossroads during silent rain
drops speak of the important and insignificant as if about the unborn сhrist
yes, all words are written with a small letter except the word christ
sometimes with a capital letter you can write the word i and the letter i
wet birds beat over a traffic jam
wet people fight with made-up rules
my late boyfriend always called the streets after birds and people
every time I come back to the room with an empty chair
back to the room with an empty heart
I return to the room of the demolished house
walking through the cemetery with mental flowers
skipping work under false pretenses
just to no longer see stone people clinging to hatred
just to see the grave of love more often
here under the arms of the trees is a tombstone
here lies the corpse of love which once again turned out to be useless to anyone
Monster
He lived in the taiga
He fed on fears
He fed on the blood of communism
His soft paws had sharp claws
The fingers of anyone he met turned into screams
Boys with rifles couldn’t sleep
Boys with rifles wished they had died
Boys with rifles fell asleep with their bellies ripped open
The prisoners felled the forest without fear
Imprisonment and death are worse than meeting him
But who is he and where did this furry monster come from in the taiga?
Boys inside men died during encounters with this monster
The rifles screamed and died in the depths of the taiga
And the helpless prisoners were supposed to get their death in the taiga
After all death is just a surprise box
The monster came to everyone sooner or later
People died in extermination camps
The roar of the monster and the roar of the gulag echoed over the quiet taiga
Future corpses dug for themselves a grave of shared despair
Love in a concentration camp
The belly is full of earth
The earth is full of bellies
Let it be
Let it not be
The hand is alive touch the hand
Not hand
Touch the spirit
Spirits floated
We were sailing
A five-pointed star of sand floated
Everything went to hell
Оh God
We were flying
In her eyes was the sadness of non-existent love
There was a five-pointed star in my eyes
We lay in the ground
The unknown of love
The unknown of love in which the boat of the body of another drowned man is drowning, trying to get out of the abyss. The madness of loneliness freezes on the water and the silence bursts with bubbles. Tell me, how long have you been chewing the pulp of time in the dark, drinking wine? Your jaw is cramping too. The moon, like a wolf, clings its teeth to the pale skin of silence. In the morning no one will rise again. No one will love you in the morning.
Haiku
life in the painful
patches of
аutumn leaves