Weak, soft living, - speak Chinese -
Rigid doomed to death.
And we say - where the thin, there and tear.
Tell me, time or not a firm to the touch?
Bend it when you do not remember me,
Or when we choose the green market,
Or when we fall asleep, unable to hide?
As to the hourglass, it does not matter
Where much remains
And when the skies turn over glass:
Hear them in the small hornet's interception,
Between you and me, back and forth
Flowing narrow gold chain,
Fetter our wrists.
This is the time.
Perfume anxiety, says Swedenborg,
Living near the stomach -
Inside us to examine at close range,
Waiting period
Between heartbeats, hoping to squeeze
Rattle themselves - lighten up,
Blow in a timid soul - and, huddled soul
Flies away.
Dimly seeing the table, spot plates - down
Explode - and again in exile -
Over the open salt shaker, extinct stub.
- Come Back!
I knew I had a spell -
To banish this cloud overshadowed his forehead,
To spirits, scurrying in walks and tea party,
Zagovarivat - skinny, clawed, - to
At least for a day lull them!
You drank without me, you're drunk
All what we meant together.
Leaf after rain shaking like a pennant,
And the buttercups are in a glassy luster,
And every blade of grass field
Bent under the weight of desire.
You looked at me, standing up:
Laugh, unshaven cheek, slouch.
Like a ghost hanging white moths
And cold prickly gravel crunches.
You told me in the night ringing and empty
Really really not a drop left?
Abstract Figure Painting- Artist Tim Parker
Everything that you want to destroy all that you want
Erase the stain with a jacket - shaded tracts
Mossy wet and slippery trail cursive,
And rustle forgotten on a shelf candy boxes,
And the tablecloth that I spread a and old mail,
Where called - when are you coming? - All that
Do you want to get dirty first, throw away -
That there was no pity - all this as if on the march -
Is on your tail - and as dry as gunpowder,
Autumn grass and fluffy clouds cottage cheese,
Schelyasty loft with a creaky bed, with spring,
Jealous to embrace, and a corner where we put
Blank clothes - everything that you want to destroy -
And the heaven and the earth - from broken branches to puddles
From the hill in the colors of the railway booth
To bare knees, till darkness gnawed like
Fire, poplars, from lilac in the open window
To the smell of leather, - I pick - up crumbs,
And you do it again, sour cream, and as the showers on the roof:
No need to be God to do the former nebyvshim.
Surrender now - it's not so bad,
It will stand for itself: defenseless,
You're right, just past - holes, patches, bridges
Last minute, lips, knees, fields, bushes,
Embrace - tryahnesh inside out - a pattern not seen.
Neither the quiet laughter, no taste honey saliva
No drops on the bright grass and sun skin
Neither fingers moving - components and holes visible
And where were flying as the ancient horsemen, dreams,
Crouching by the wind to the ringing bridle, - there is also
Ugly seam - instead placer round hooves
Under the age of trembling when his head on the warm
Stiff arm your ... No, sorry no sleeping,
And the brain of its time - a clean fuel - filled,
Buzzing, devouring space
shining nozzle.
Well, turn the past, pull the string of words,
Admiring their poor ispod that is not smooth,
No cleaner earth. Only the wind blows - cover
Vzmetnetsya, sewing dazzling. Cut yourself - blood
All the same under the sun wheel, my dear, all the same ...
Leaving a drop of the blood of my nights,
Turns them land in the sand. No treasurer
Do not calculate loss.
Disappearing from the cooled these days,
Turns them wet leaves traces in rocks.
But when you do not, I see you more clearly,
Heavens over your head blue,
Raising the steps, singing louder wicket.
And when you're not, I'm talking to you,
Afraid not make it like a retreat
Not croaked. On the road level
Pours light, for you answered me forest, speckled
By Rowan, mist rises as surf,
And to his lips pressed sheet bloodless.
Tatiana Voltskaya
Artist Timothy M. Parker
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