"Мне всё кажется, что на мне штаны скверные, и что я пишу не так, как надо, и что даю больным не те порошки. Это психоз, должно быть." А. П. Чехов
Don't feed me with my heart no more
I'm sick of lick and bite
of chew and swallow
all these ugly pretty things,
I am sick of verbs and paranoia and concrete —
vista that waits outside (of me)
its jaws are clattering; and me and every man
just like zoo animals and their guards
aim at each other.
We want to taste.
Then to devour.
Just like zoo animals and their gods
fall for each other.
My heart.
O my heart!
I hear you swirl. I hear you smolder. Sparks.
My heart, you are a sieve,
a sieve in the hands of a monkey
but you do glow
under my pillow
(stuffed with coins and milk teeth and pigeon feathers)
drowning in ashes and diamonds.
I'm sick of lick and bite
of chew and swallow
all these ugly pretty things,
I am sick of verbs and paranoia and concrete —
vista that waits outside (of me)
its jaws are clattering; and me and every man
just like zoo animals and their guards
aim at each other.
We want to taste.
Then to devour.
Just like zoo animals and their gods
fall for each other.
My heart.
O my heart!
I hear you swirl. I hear you smolder. Sparks.
My heart, you are a sieve,
a sieve in the hands of a monkey
but you do glow
under my pillow
(stuffed with coins and milk teeth and pigeon feathers)
drowning in ashes and diamonds.
И аллея будущности.