A few years later you hear a scream
Crunch and damaged cartilage -
Is the first time I nastuplyu
In the throat of his own song.
Yuri Naumov. "Stanislavsky".
Nerves sway. Finished tea. Headache.
Soul stares podglupovatoy guinea pig.
The preparatorskom written rehash words
Exactly at the station-polurazvaline bite of grass.
'Cause the words are over, the new will not - alas.
Something creaked in the breast, frozen wheel.
Instead of a cigarette in the pocket scored grass
And he was surprised and happy Fear accompanies the bows.
Goes off the heat and the pan is not bubbling.
Temperature regime dying chest
Like a spilled on the snow the day before yesterday borscht,
Cursing, as found at the bottom of the soap neighbor.
Yes, more images of the kitchen, cooking, the smell of wet clothes,
Than the cabinet, cigar, "Martel", a dusty tome.
Like some bold, smradnodyshaschaya pig
Every morning, eats Velasquez, Grieg, Beethoven and Kant.
Or vice versa - while pushing vzashey
Pig, coached in the beads, exactly on the truffle.
So this morning clearly audible sound of damaged cartilage -
Invading Teutonic cuisine pig house shoes.
Muse too often in the kitchen than the bedroom (old).
Wrapped stale bathrobe, coffee maker roars,
Drops columns of ash by Sherbatov saucers ... Wines
Wine does not even require!
When in a simple provincial goggles
Inappropriate in line, the bed between us ...
Color of the tablecloths before the name was "turquoise",
Around the time when a raven's wing
Compare the color of my hair, fingers touching, the one
Who are just that, again, yawn, tossed his cigarette into the sink ...
Bread Crumbs, the ticking of the shooter, welding ... All - vanity.
Vanity and vexation of spirit among the pans and the Turks.
This is the last word. I have nothing more to say.
Something froze and became inaudible in the creaking of the alarm.
Something like sugar is melted, and do not evaporate, does not collect,
Something to whittle away the soul of uniform work Files -
About this mechanic time, sleepless workaholic - Prosit!
Eternal Life, you see, faulty - not happy,
As Christmas decorations in old age or close to ...
Whether grated cheese free, or manna falling
Priporashivaet streamers, and beads, and throat songs
In order not to confuse the eye, a homogeneous earth to escape.
Do not make the world to me, like Moses, Egypt, too small,
But it is very similar to the crowded waiting room.
And when dogryzya grass, bottle empty,
With little station-polurazvaliny-half-life jump down to the ground,
(Not because they expected the train and the spit-covered plain,
And because the destination is even more ugly)
Want the words easily, accurately as es-VE-Te
Pelevinskim six-fingered farewell to the world, sadness.
But, exhausting their velikopudovye moralite,
Contempt splyunesh in the snow. Words that have died.
It's time to cross.
Comfort that I left at that, in addition to the debt
Only on Burtz chain cuneiform on the snow.
And then - not for long. And then ... Long.