At five in the morning, I started to think about God -
And scared, like a stone in a window or a bullet.
Nothing collapsed in the kitchen has not grown at the threshold -
Silence. Empty apartment.
Haunting my god, me not knowing
Anything except what happened to me too early
Say, not what is, as the clank of a tram
Like a burn on the retina from the sun, like a shot, like a wound.
I'm walking on its vast empty apartment
Remembering the dead, remembering the dead. And others.
How animated furniture, knowledgeable about the world
Only that it dusty three-room and quiet at night.
I'm standing at the window as a target in an abandoned dash
For which a transgression under fire was the work.
Leafless and chipped paint on the jacket
Reminder of the past, the past ... But that, like this
Personalities is difficult to admit that without God
World becomes butaforichney, talentless, cardboard,
Like a flat seat on the wall, pierced with harpoons -
Nose pine guy.
On this fire ... Even my pain - for fun.
Amputated spirit - phantom pain ...
And my god sprinkles porch and track
That I should not slip, a mixture of sand and salt.
"You never know what can, and who look in the evening" -
Provorchit, fueling a fire, feed the dog.
And sit down in a chair with a novel. And not far off dream.
Knocks the snow, the steppe is empty and no one opposes the darkness.