It takes a poet
to just know it..
know what?
The growling rumble
of a rolling thunder,
rippling through
episodic memory,
echoic.

Indeed,
an echo of a light
that is already gone..
A melody, stuck
in God’s mind
as after-silence
of our song.

But why does it
take a …

Just because
my open hand
extended
towards you,
upon a time,
does not mean
it could ever
reach you.

And just because
you read the words
I wrote for you,
upon a time,
does not mean
that their truth
could ever
free you.

My hand
is closed now
and receding …

Love conquers
The All.
Say it ain’t true.
No wall
stands so tall
that no love
may pass through.

As deluge of water
it flows
through the cracks.
It flows
unimpeded by
cold
and hard facts.

And just as water
grinds stone
into sand..
Love softens
The Ones
upon …

Aren’t we worth
each other?
Heart to heart..
and stem to stem.
And thorn to thorn..
petal to rosy petal.

Intertwined
twixt one another
through our
growing pains.
Yet, still we chose
each other
every time
and time
and time
again.

What force,
expressible
through
language
of the universe …

Окстись,
сила нечистая,
и воплощение
все-зла!
Лучше
известная
нам всем
как сущность
человеческая.

Разве не правда,
то что самый
страшный
зверь из всех
и есть сам
человек?

Но то и делает
из нас людей,
что мы способны
творить зло,
немыслимое..
которому
сравнения
средь наших
младших
братьев нет.

Но то и …

Chinese checkers
ain’t the game
I’m down to play,
dear friend..
The game
that Death
enjoys the best,
indeed, is chess.

In this old game
of strategy,
we do not trade
our more for less.
And aren’t pawns
the cheapest price
to pay for peace?

The Player …

Call me
The Wrap God,
for I’m calling it
a wrap.

How many times
must this foul snake
circle itself unto
its slithering
posterior..
before
we call
its truth
a gospel
fucking fact,
for cereal?

Must it remain
a square
that I can’t circle
‘til the day
I …

Неужели
Жизни мало?
Жизнь своё
уж отыграла.
Уж зажилась,
но в ответ..
разожгла
костёр наш
Смерть.

Тьма в любви,
Египетская,
как у негра
в жопе.
Но для тех
кто ищут свет
всегда найдётся
капля на истоке.

И куда же
приведёт нас
тот поток
Вселенной
по которому течёт
Иртышская вода?

Туда …

After all is said
and done,
we’re nothing
more..
than chaos
at the edge
of what
is known.

Recursions
and self-references
are we not?
Through flesh eternal,
of the flesh,
and for the flesh
of God.

Тоска.
Слово дня.
А почему же?
Совпадение.

И разве Жизнь
не сделана
из тех..
Чья рука
держит иглу,
чья вьёт нить,
чья шьёт гобелен.

And aren’t I
the blindest
pig of all
who ever
lived. To see
the pearls,
but not
the shells
from which
they cometh.

Toska.
Word …