a ligament that never lets you free
conversely dangles after –
on the winding road

a taste of dust and ashes
in the mouth
full of thorns
– are you agreeing with me,
that nothing can’t be washed
with wine?

and on the warm day
i can reconnect with You
and on the cold day –


Once, I was sitting and painting rain –
Straight lines on white paper
Straight as pine coffin boards
Flat and straight, like soldiers in the ranks,
who stand and wait for order
fall down on the asphalt –
That straight and smooth
like a white wall pierced by the bullets, that get stuck in it,
like words gets stuck in the heart –
sharp, precise, cold words
like skewers with pieces of meat on them
like water washes away the lines of rain
flowing down on white paper.

An unceasing banal chatter
lips are piercing thick air
I want to go out, downstairs to the yard
and warm a midday cold with a cigarette.

To stand on the steps like a sparrow, –
swaggering in the frosty wind
and calmly observe the walking people,
that never slow down.

And when you’ll to get tired of freezing in smoke,
and be a letter in the streets isometrics
You’ll take the elevator to the heaven above
where the world’s being born, forming from letters.

and they all went out
awkward, lowering their gaze,
out one by one
once upon a time

the door was turning against
the clock –
sang-drank-loved each other

and we were standing on Bowery street
looking to the East
and punk rock had fade away
and CBGB was locked

… and then, everything will decay
into elementary particles
and even those nuggets that have left
will return to nothing