Sociopods. Poems about life.

... what is not  …

The raw truth tastes just awful  - 
in the throat does not climb, you sit-you choke; 
like an earthen potato   
                      extremely fresh and disgusting…

 
Skilfully prepared truth 
refined by the depth of meaning of taste; 
sensible people admire her,   
      and the loud ones are already shaking, 
    in the depths of her   
without a cry they shrivel and bend…   

The truth chewed in the mouth  -   
it tastes terrible; 
Sane spit, writhing, 
and loud, wildly rejoicing,   
              shouting:  "disgusting!  disgusting!  disgusting!" 

*

 
What about this world?…  The world is like the world… 
It looks like cheese and consists of holes. 
At first glance, it didn't even seem to be there, but so what?   
Hell, you're banging your forehead against the glass. 

And feeling like a set of numbers..., 
in your deeds you look for meaning 
and think:  "that's nonsense... 
who thought of you like that..." 

The motivation system is simple:  for the sake of the rattling rain, 
that matrix was made of sand to sift the chaff from the grain. 

It has sets of control commands, 
feedbacks and colored garlands; 
the task, in general, is extremely clear  - 
it is not necessary for the squirrel to get off the wheel.

In a bucket of slop, sinful souls languished;   
he silently poured them into the cauldron and began to stir.… 
they stewed and cursed,                     
and he, like a stone, remained silent. 

Then he poured their Alembic into the cube., 
they prayed and begged for mercy.,   
and he was laughing with a strange smile. 
and he didn't want to talk as before. 

          And soon their voices fell silent.… 
when suddenly 
  from the brew of sin was born   
                  Angel White   
                      and flew away somewhere in the clouds… 
 
* 
 
Angels were disassembled into feathers, 
                decorated the walls with them, 
in the temples - the consolation of mortals, 
                   the needle towers rose into the sky.… 
  
with huge arches to 
            anyone could climb through them, 
at least twice in my life…    
  
Really, 
    the higher or wider The Sinner, 
                            the more he is cramped and has little space, 
but, thank God, there is a correct method  -   
                  build towers higher, 
                                  at least two hundred meters… 

*

Poochebrod stared., 
Popeye poochebrodalsya, 
                    shouting from the throat outwards: 
"rejoice siesekondno!  rejoice in the second! 
dusting, gnawing clay dishes.… 
who is there next kaminishch will throw, 
I don't know, but he's going to trash everything here..." 

good day, ladder 
enough cheap truths, 
I see they put you on the escalator, 
crawling into the floor deep below… 
the thought sprouted the thickest hair, 
I don't see how many more of her are moving; 
          Shar she's acutely feisty, 
wiry, clawed, stabbing… 

I twisted the worm in my brain, 
so that he devoured the fear to the bottom, 
petrified there and Rod   
became ...  iron-nickel concrete… 

the grasshopper is not weak  -   
                              he's quick,   
there are more blacksmiths in it, 
than in other iron mines. 

And every beggar paid in gold for the rent of gold, 
to wear gold and not seem like a beggar. 

He wanted to see the truth, he wanted to know the truth, 
but I was surprised to encounter such a moment: 
the Black was painted white, and the White was lowered into the mud 
and the hares already pray to the wolf god, and the jackals, like angels, are whitewashed… 
the old Angels have their wings torn off and Satan's brand impaled on them.; 
and from afar you can't say anything, your eyes are already lying, 
words do not mean anything at all, and, of course, they do not allow to drip deeper. 

And to protect the secrets of the hidden put talented loudmouths,   
screaming like they've been bitten and slashed when someone passes by. 

Children dressed in mourning gnawed on nuts. ; 
their teeth melted, their eyes blackened.; 
and on the dirty street leeches swam and mercilessly fattened., 
feeding on the carrion rotting in the purses of the rich.

"Dust will return to dust"  - 
all honors are rendered to the deceased… 
man is free,   
whose journey is over ... 
forever. 

No white, no black 
and time does not run. 
No regrets of the past 
and tomorrow does not frighten. 
Grievances calmed down,   
desires subsided; 
happy man from the past,   
whose journey is over  - 
he slept forever and sleeps... 

What do you live to peaceful   
from a shrunken past? 
Why are you here?   
Earthly everyday life is lived… 
Happy man,   
whose journey is over  - 
calm, finally ...

He mixed up his life   
with a dusty road   
under the Deep Sky; 
the earth with its down was closer,   
but I wanted somewhere higher…

went to talk to God...   
but somewhere out there! 
A queue with no end 
  - with a shaft… 
He was told:  "look for more...  wait", 
  "but it's too late  - 
        flowed away, the rains ended,   
and it became all frivolous… 

The man who studied man   
for a human,   
suddenly understood  - 
he himself is very far away   
from the very first   
the reference person: 
the very first man   
he looked very much like a man., 
and the very last man 
  was more like an artist   
                                          or a trashy poet. 

Sexual obsession   
and the social optimism of elegant Rams,   
broadcasting about prospects   
for walking the herd to a dead end   
fat sheep;

A dead end with perspective...  they say it's fate… 
the devil knows, but for some reason 
                    I don't really believe it, and I don't want to go there. 

But, really, no one asks, 
                  kick, smiling, in the ass, 
they say, " it is necessary!  We must!   
      Quick, quick...  Don't stop!"  - they say. 

The plot is of course with intrigue and the intrigue is strong... 
it is not clear who and why... it is not clear only when.

I fly around the ward like a paper airplane 
with a cardboard propeller and a paper soul.

Glass insects, frozen on the walls, do not blink, watching me., 
and the flies that rule the world are Nagas.

Some flies hid in the rivers, some are long dead; 
flies in the twilight gnaw nuts and such flies are the majority.

 
* 
I know you're on fire and something's eating at you;   
you give freedom to bugs whenever you can.

Inside the chitinous armor they have little space, 
you bring them to light with a gesture.

And gray ants eat bread from your hands, 
a needle pierced their eyes - now they are slaves.

And only playful dragonflies chatter merrily, 
                    they have to live until winter, 
and then wait for frosts.

They will not survive the cold-with meat, 
but they still have an option...  look close.

The bugs died, very sorry, do not worry, 
but their armor, let them take beautiful dragonflies...

Light shakes the chandelier in the kitchen.   
"we call Zarathustra to us."; 
the planet sways beneath our feet   
people-drove more than expected.

Back thoughts push front thoughts   
straight ahead to the barricades., 
evil manifested to rise:   
"Gentlemen, we need to fight urgently!"

It is quite unpleasant for the eye, 
but our entire Gray race is in danger."  - 
there are no places now even in the toilet, 
  we all feel like targets in a shooting gallery.

Squeezing space and hiding in the shadows,   
will soon have cancer to live on your knees; 
yesterday greatness, today prose   
"that's a strange position we have.

The hum of a turbine instead of tap water   
- how the truth flows from the blue canvas screen, 
the strong perish, burning in the struggle like a flame,   
and in the crevices of the weak breed, fat, tribe.

And, presumably, the second hug   
much nicer than the crucifixion; 
everything is twisted in one spiral with a controversial, 
but absolutely honest ethyl-morality. 
 
The Eagle is now, having lost the crown,   
resembles a cow, 
which circles and circles the field   
along the Common Orbit of the straw stacks,... 
 
Without a long Root as a symbol of faith,   
he and she became slaves of the system  -   
so it has always been and so it will be after,   
but there are some questions.

Empty eye sockets, predatory faces, 
truth, visible to the first comer   
a truth unknown to anyone, 
the prohibitions are faceless, staring   
and the rules written on the ice. 
A trifle made by the main law,   
"the essence of things, trodden into the mud. 
Heads pregnant with stupidity 
... thoughts as viscous as ointment. 

The meaninglessness of meaningless ideas; 
meaningless games.,   
who lives for the first time in the world, 
not taken seriously   
and frivolous for consideration by Congress. 
 
Time-stepping clock   
and the ticking kettles on the stoves, 
raging fires in the furnaces   
and quiet Birch roofs. 
 
Lemon, running away drop by drop in the rain;   
bow, predicting spring thunderstorms; 
spring, like a dream, 
  and a dripping dream of rain with a tear. 
 
Everything has happened more than once, everything will happen more than once, 
the flowers will bloom again and bloom with paper madness… 
 
And the appearance of struggle is the illusion of battles, 
like perishable flowers, like ancient visions.

Alien people under the rule of time, 
murmuring timidly Ford, 
birch bark timelessness   
and the noise of the crowd, and the trampling of feet…

Where before the trumpets sang copper,   
where ashes used to smolder and sing,     
there now reigns untimely,   
fire and ashes of burned bodies.

In a horizontal landscape   
grotesque moving faces 
cars-fish in the Water streets and wings,   
waking birds…

And puddles break under your feet,   
I quicken my pace-almost swim     
and in the reflections of the windows I hear sounds,   
but from them, rather, I run.

The city has its own desires,   
my city never sleeps, 
But sometimes it burns to the ground   
and still burning until morning. 
 
The crowd rages, the crowd sways;   
cars, like firecrackers, burst, 
and their owners are rolling in the dust,   
hysterical laughter suffocates. 
And everything in the madness breaks down,   
the crowd sways like a wave,   
under the rhythms of music rocking 
she is agitated and dizzy.

A visiting guest kicks with his heel,   
and the quiet-eyed blooms; 
in the crowd the many-voiced Jester laments 
and something is screaming, screaming.

And in a copper mirror deceptive   
ringing, reflecting silver, 
proclaims the king God,   
or maybe, again, a buffoon.

Twisted, twisted, crooked, 
  like a mirror, trembling above your head 
and, separating the step from the void,   
the ringing of silence blows my head.

It freezes a millimeter away  from the end;   
a step is needed, but there is a question "Where?" 
The balance is so fragile, the web is so thin   
"at the precipice  you can't see the bottom at all.

Three horsemen:  they have three horses,   
there are three roads and only one goal; 
definitely, everything is predetermined,   
but still something is wrong…

Evening mud dies in the dust,   
in clods of Earth, in a splash of water,         
under the Pines a soft silence   
creeps like a shadow along the night road. 

She was only two steps away.   
from noise  at the beginning and from the end; 
rain without loving, without fearing, without trembling,   
she's having fun, life is so loving.

Here is a procession down the street   
in bulk, rushing forward and rushing, 
washing debris to the shores,   
to the overhanging houses.

I see trams in the corners, 
passion of incomprehensible animal fun,   
morning fog over the factory         
and some rumbling news.

Breaking the shell of morning   
and pouring rubble into puddles, 
day creeps out of the corner   
"like a turkey maroon comb."

He suggests three ways, but they're all shit, 
I'll have to do it - as always and climb out the window again.

There is no secret and you just need to have time   
find someone to give in the face and dare to deceive.

With lawn bent grass blind  arrogance will come down, 
when December will shed its snow on the noise of the calendar.

Once Upon a time there was a man  - 
a man like a man, nothing special. 
So ... unless he couldn't sit still, 
                                          everything was fidgeting for some reason somewhere. 

Lived for three, worked for seven; 
      did what others did not do; 
            I thought about things that others didn't think about. 
And one night he had a wonderful dream, 
in which the question sounded one interesting, 
with the answer committed clear and very specific. 
* 
"What is it  The universe?"   
**************************** 
              "Oh, come on!!!  Really ?  Oh, my ! 
The dream was long ... years passed… 
30 years alien war lasted, 
but as he died, he remembered those words. 
in a world burned to ashes. 
Closing my eyes yesterday, 
he fell asleep forever.

And then 
the sky laughed overhead, 
30 years of war behind my back.

And he's alive 
returned home today, 
alive again. 

I opened my eyes and woke up… 
 
* 
 
From above they drew a picture,   
set the task and defined the Messiah; 
3 years puffing and puffing steam, he picked up the words, 
which would reveal the topic…

Every time he told a new person   
Thought and saw in the eyes of incomprehension or   
grinning, he thought of a few new words. 
And so, gradually, he had them. 
                                                more and more… 
From an ordinary person 
he became an absolute fanatic,   
full of all sorts of words, ideas, solutions.

Like a cupbearer scooping with a huge ladle 
from a huge barrel of wine, he took answers   
"like a magician in a rabbit hat." 
Endless energy permeated his body, 
goosebumps ...

Where the blank walls had been,   
doors sprouted now.... 
When he was beaten, he laughed . , 
when they laughed at him, he rejoiced., 
when you weren't paying attention:  took off his pants, 
            showing bare ass   
and it made him much more visible.

He did not recognize authorities, did not believe in other people's words...                         
He was told "Why do you need it?"  - "It is necessary" - answered.

He wasn't asked when he was chosen. 
Complained, Nothing is clear   
"he swapped words in sentences. 
Shouted " wildest nonsense!"   
- Retorted "with a new one this is always..." 
Responded then, it was 100 times,   
explained the nuances;  change the picture sometimes,  -

"Nobody needs it!"   
Grinned:  the "opinion" of no one is important." 
Whispered:  "it's pointless and hopeless.",   
  - I explained, the essence is to go continuously.

Summarized "no practical application",  –   
and he – " think before you make judgments." 
And it is not necessary that all, 
It is important that these 12   
          they understood that this is their mission on Earth: 
the old world is going nowhere, it can not be saved… 
    And there is even no point in breaking it - he himself goes to die with a song, 
  and their task is simple-it's time to start building a new world, 
                                                            while enough raw materials… 
On this path 
his faith was tempered to that degree, 
when a mere thought could change reality. 
And she began to change... 
  * 
We are building a new world. 
And we need pioneers… 
... join us! 
* 
Bald and very gentle   
I kiss the shiny skull in the hickey, 
I rub it with a cloth, admire it to tears.

My wind hasn't died down yet; 
he is the one who opens the window to the North   
in his madness he is great.

A vicious prophet teaches rules,   
sent from the ceiling, 
everyone can open the door wide 
and live like this for the rest of the day.

In the realm of the merry and drunk   
the train goes downhill, 
Rotten prophets doom him, 
and he groans, but lives.

Thousands of years under the Sun,   
hammering a bolt into the Chiefs ' orders,   
we're rolling right into the Sun   
under the laughter of merry days.

Minutes are so short, but we must have time: 
seconds pass, lost, 
so shaky and so easy   
silence trembles and melts  …

The night before  Stepana, 
          which lasts a year, 
the pendulum will turn to the side 
at the hour when the president sings.

In a world without sin there will be fasting., 
like gruel 10 years from the morning   
something somewhere will creak, break off,   
        releasing the spring from the trigger...

Strings will ring,   
in the water, the fish will go deaf, as if 
what you slurp,   
it will become suitable for speaking. 

Sweet woman, legs dangling from the ceiling, 
Scream:  "attention!  at ease!!!" 
Will say:  "you should ...  Take it! 
A-no...  so scram...  to hell with it."

And here  he's from the podium  
kicking, trampling, and shoving. 
straight from the throat to the head, 
through the teeth flew out, buzzing,   
and wasps and gadflies crawled into his ears.

There was no sweet honey,   
honey has long been sweet over;  
fiery chili pepper   
"instead of... instead of Clover." 

To fill the brains,   
to…  to twist the tree 
wooden, to burn in the brain…   
green mold in the brain.

To everyone who stood,   
staring blankly,  
suddenly I felt like inside…   
how everything inside melted. 

That grin is stupid,   
face contorted, straightened 
and like a fly, not getting out of the syrup,   
gone... gone and gone.

And that the air is crisp   
twisted premonition gloomy, 
jaws twisting into a scream… 
  in the cry of tomato 

                                                        skewed scary.

Burning wings in acid rain   
and sinful thoughts in your pocket, 
I swore I wouldn't come back here,   
but my God decided otherwise.

Yesterday flows down like a tear   
and freezes on the fly 
scraps of wings burn,   
but they never burn.

I cut the money with a trembling hand,   
torment them and burn them; 
the devil inside them is alive,   
I'm killing him.

Bulldozer through cities,   
by shopping centers 
leveling Paradise   
- I'm opening a new one.

Will clenched into a fist,   
the pressure got stronger, 
presses and presses the temple   
from the feeling that it is necessary.

Electric Light in the eyes,   
like a light bulb in the dark; 
the far one looks ahead   
the neighbor under my feet.

A neighbor, it seemed, a friend,   
distant, it seemed - the enemy, 
well, if essentially,   
everyone was a fool. 
In the mirror reflecting,   
shadow twists his lips, 
"do what you want, laziness,   
I'll rest, " he says. 

And like snow in winter,   
naked sitting alone, 
feeling the ice all over my body   
and a little fire inside. 

And in the morning a warm shower   
out of icy water 
drive him away 
from one hole to the other.

Locked away from guests,   
build dreams out of sand 
on the shore of the White Sea   
and its red water.

And, wavering, a shadow 
... the space above your head 
Dripping like a tear,   
... in a puddle under a streetlight.

A new spark of the day   
smoke from cigarettes 
it will stretch like a string,   
catching the dawn on the run.

Light bulbs overheating   
happiness will not burn, 
hinting that light   
we must save it for the night.

Master charlatans…   
          the hypnotic Rabbit is a relative of the toad, 
sinister demons and creatures in gold, 
living in an eternal drunken stupor;

beasts roaming the bronze roofs 
and their political hookers are whores,   
parading the sidewalks  - 
they became a lot, a lot, a lot 
in this barbaric and screaming bedlam.

Jeering crowds,   
like sheep bleating and mooing, 
Their shepherds pull the strings   
and make them dance.

And earlier puppeteers were difficult:   
try to tie a rope to each, 
and now everything is extremely simple:   
all in the web of the internet and TV. 

But nothing as said once:   
nothing lasts forever under the moon… 
and if you try very hard,   
then the cards will add up to any alignment.

Curved into a goat horn, a quiet rock crept up, 
he told everyone that he was a prophet, but he was really God.

Its purpose is the fight against ground squirrels   
combine with rabbit breeding, 
to kill many birds with one stone, 
    without shooting, without suffocating  from laughter colic.

Stones froze by time, bloomed by spring in the spring, 
sprouted a pure seed with a golden faceted border.

Taking a sharp knife, you turn the corners of your mouth into a smile, 
to always be ready to go by the rules.

You must smile and be silent,   
chew your bread, don't perform, 
if they say Run-Run,   
they will order "stop"  "freeze, die.

The world is not created for you, you do not open your mouth, 
be glad, since the honor was entrusted to you 
          being a cog in a huge wheel.

And you will perform   
"starve to death, 
how no one needs a spare part   
without a clan-tribe.

My voice... 
I lift it higher,   
there is little room for him below,   
he needed it, he really needed it.   
roam the rooftops; 
it doesn't need collisions..., 
no need for barriers and walls, 
he needed to breathe deeply...,   
become light, become shadow.

Foot touches   
on the yellow skin of the cheek 
nasty crawl in the mouth, 
like crayfish on the bottom of the river; 
buzzing from afar   
needle penetrates the brain,   
it must be time... 
I get up, they came for me.

It'll all be over soon… 
        my soft ashes will live 
                                in a spacious jar.

I have very little for some reason nothing 
and very much for some reason, when a lot; 
I want to be in the middle of everything, 
I want to be everywhere a little.

Mistakes are not hiding at all,   
proudly go in a circle; 
we are not afraid to admit them,     
they don't care about our efforts either.

And no one knows why     
need to go out early in the morning,   
why come back at night,     
but they say - so it is necessary…

And one of the greats remarked,   
that we will live,   
until, inevitably, we die,   
and then, without regret,   
from above we will look at the living   
and die of laughter,     
until we burst.

He stepped onto the roof of the world   
and breathed fresh wind, 
exhaled back   
and went back   
ash could breathe.

Prisons will never be empty, 
      there will always be people living there 
in their cozy apartments;   
they don't need doors and windows, 
no need for air and wind, 
like animals in a cage   
and turn to ashes.

Motherland eats sons   
and sells daughters, 
the motherland needs money,   
to feed the new children.

Mummies rule the country   
from the top of their pyramids, 
thousands of years ago   
the last of them died.

The righteous sharpen their knives,   
poison is poured on sinners  - 
a wheel with a creak   
turns back.

In the muddy waters of the lakes   
a crack broke the ice 
and the light lit up the darkness   
into the depths of the waters.

They drew enemies for themselves;   
their honest business is a dirty war… 
they glorified themselves at our expense,   
while we plowed here until morning.

They need an enemy to get medals,   
to budgets, money, orders   
on them from the cornucopia rolled,   
like rain water.

And honestly... I don't like heroes, 
I feel sick  from their sleek and lustful faces; 
I don't like generals or ministers.   
and those who are in their inner circle.

I feel sick  from many, I will not hide,   
and many things are sick of me, 
but life goes on as usual   
and I'm going with her. 

If you want to rise in life, 
you should be able to kiss; 
and not even just to be able to kiss, 
  namely, in the ass to be able to kiss.

And not even so much,   
how much in the ass to be able to kiss, 
how much to know - with whom exactly?   
you must study.

You have to come up with a strategy in life,   
build the right people in the chain… 
And the main secret you should know  - 
the priest of desire knows how to fulfill everything.

Kiss the most important ass   
and everything will be fine, 
your life will be just fine,   
like an old silent movie…

To be able to kiss the ass, 
you must.   
many years.; 
study, work day and night,   
and maybe,   
if you're lucky, 
  you will achieve Honor...  such a great, 
let you to the priest before that....

 
But, true, you can not learn,   
talent in you from childhood can be revealed. 
But this is a talent, you have to be born with it… 
And if you're so lucky,   
... this can be proud of 
and in life you can achieve a lot...

To get to the main priest,   
you should practice first  -   
there is a strict hierarchy here:   
all deputies, assistants, Petty Chiefs   
in a circle you just have to go, 
to track your   
on the pope of theirs to leave,

and, most importantly, in this   
less drooling,  - 
we need to think about people,   
that you'll get in line...

The main thing is not to get lost at the right time 
and in the right position to group. 
Justify your trust  -   
not everyone can be given a second chance.

And so you got to the main priest. 
Consider that you have risen in your life  - 
she will fulfill all desires, 
if, Of course, you will try 
and you will not try to cheat on her. 

Tossing and turning in bed is much warmer, 
than listen to the singing of the Blizzard, 
wandering in the cold, barely opening his eyes-slits; 
      where the hell  … 
              perhaps as always, 
work not for yourself, but for yourself, 
      to live a couple of days more,   
not dead, until morning.

Terribly tired of living,   
living only till morning; 
running around in circles like a squirrel,   
back and forth…

and you spin the wheel, and like you're running, 
and the cage, that's the infection, on the spot as it stood, so it stands.

Deny the Masters,   
calling themselves rulers; 
deny heroes,   
calling themselves righteous.

And we deny everyone,   
encroaching on our freedom, 
no matter how right you are,   
he considered himself in his right.   
                            justice itself.

We reject the big ones and the huge ones,   
like the Colossi of the towering; 
reject the majestic,   
masters of the sky consider themselves.

We do not believe in Shepherds,   
herds of Masters; 
we do not believe Wolves and foxes cunning,   
chickens devouring and forever chewing;

We do not believe   
proclaiming himself above others   
and looking down wisely.

We don't believe anyone,   
except for themselves, 
responsible for themselves   
and accountable to themselves.

They depend on the patronage of those,   
who gets kissed in the ass, 
all their well-being   
it is based on one honest word.

Hangers demand freedom 
"they miss her, 
"little by little," they say, " we hang,   
it would be necessary to add."

Fish lives in a plastic bag,   
sometimes it is released; 
swim in a puddle and think: 
"well, his nafig"…

See that, kneeling,   
they believe that-power… 
they think they'll get up,   
and raspberries are waiting for them.

And although they have no weapons in the struggle for power, 
there is always the opportunity to gnaw nuts   
and dream to your heart's content.

My city is a devouring, roaring Hulk,   
frozen by a stream of ice.; 
I'm a mannequin in the glass of her window   
"a mad, wild Harlequin.

I get up at night for work,   
from work at night I come, 
my whole life is spent on the road,   
like an eternal Sphinx, I always stand.

My rulers are just like children:   
play with dolls in doll worlds  -   
they see everything in a different light,   
than me, a toy, in their childish hands. 

My rulers are the Holy Jews,   
I cannot doubt their wisdom;   
I only care about my problems,   
it is I who pray to Judas the King.

And I serve them with submissive loyalty,   
like a cockroach feeding on Table crumbs, 
I kiss feet, hands, faces…   
an ungrateful and vile snake.

The ghost,   
living in the neighborhoods of this city  –

... cities where sinners   
wandering through the eye of a needle   
every day to work;

... cities where neon flowers,   
coated with phosphorus,   
never sleep and never wither;

... cities with dead beasts   
always become a scarecrow and continue to live like this. 

He loves this city,   
where all the living get along with the dead, 
  where are the cars that live in traffic jams   
enjoying their solitude,   
  whispering   
with huge high bridges, 
  where are the spires of the palaces-skyscrapers,   
barely visible above the fog lines, 
  the lighthouse attracts all the flies from below.

He loves this city,   
where naked people prostrate where,   
perhaps,   
a bank clerk will pass by tomorrow, 
carrying a fireproof safe in your pocket,   
full of collateral souls.

He loves this city,   
full of zeros on bills,   
consisting of zeros; 
drawing themselves noughts noughts   
and again other zeros, 
rollerblading sometimes.

He loves this city,   
where the Sly told all the foolish,   
that Black is white, 
and the unsophisticated believed it.

... a city where the square seems round   
under the murmur of the unemployed;

... a city where people work hard,   
to eat and walk to work.

In our city everyone drank vodka   
and breathed from cans of oxygen, 
electricity poured through the pipes   
and then flushed down the toilet.

And there was a case:   
chickens learned to fly,   
but quickly tired 
and now, not knowing how to get off,   
on elastic branches sat and shat 
right at the naked head of power.

Eight others gathered,   
thinking how to be here… 
sincerely said,   
deciding how to live, 
and the chickens, meanwhile,   
they themselves died and fell.

Everyone quickly sighed,   
and, it was, went home, 
But, as they say, a bad example   
          growing,   
like a weed on the heads; 
the other cattle also wanted to fly.

And it would be nice chickens…,   
pigs, stripping bark from trunks,   
climbed the elastic branches of Oaks   
seek acorns and shelter.

I noticed this trend: 
from unemployment we dive into revolution,   
of course, you can give bread and circuses, 
but still - the picture will not change.

Reality added something to reality  - 
personally, you can zombie everyone: 
on the box chattering heads, 
online toys, backgrounds and computers.

And under the pretext of security and equality 
more chips will soon appear,   
well, to be sure 
no one got out from under the hood.

The people, of course, first go berserk, 
but, if everything is seasoned with butter sauce  -   
health, benefits, emigration or prostitution…   
                                                                you see, he will rejoice;   
on Saturday he will go out, walk around the shopping centers,   
eat ice cream and calm down. 

Again, science is developing 
and soon we will all perish   
in computer reality, 
everyone will have their own house and garden 
and a couple of meters under the Iron sarcophagus.

And if science fails,   
then there is always a reliable option  - 
good war more than once   
saved the falling Colossus rusty ass.

Things have lost the desire to reproduce  - 
they are strenuously forced by machines, 
stuffing them with apartments and shops 
for no good reason.

They do not even have time to be born,   
think or wash,   
they are stamped, packed   
and put seals on their identical faces.

What the hell kind of personality is there,   
the same type of gray mono format  - 
all equally sewn patterns,   
for a change, change the colors only.

And they would like to feel hands  - 
Their tenderness, perhaps their carelessness.

Joy rolled with a taste of salt, 
water, however, no more,   
but these are details.

Idle statues at home   
with strange geometry silent, 
his tenants threw away the keys.   
And left with the ends.

Only a well-trained lapdog   
barking, as always, 
thinking that he was about to be fed in the morning.

Later, loitering in the alleys, 
and only pebbles crunched deliciously,   
reminiscent of juicy cutlets.

One-sidedness is sad   
"not at all., 
I want some three-dimensionality   
in displaying this picture.

Stuffy Catacombs got,   
tired of Maze lines,   
I want illusory freedom,   
but full, not hungry.

Mad clowns-break the circus; 
their hands seemed to miss blood., 
they decide:  to be or not to be… 
and they rehearse the war in miniature.

Their senses were heightened by the heat, 
their nerves were taut as ropes.; 
things will get better,   
if it rains, 
in the meantime, the guests are burned in the Hall.

No one applauds  - 
    the audience lost all desire to laugh, 
they would have climbed out the window,   
unfortunately, the building has no windows.

The rabbit is fluffy, cute.,   
to eat and be fruitful; 
the owner is very beloved and very lazy,   
useful,   
unpretentious in food and housing, 
rabbit skin and meat in price…

Piglets breed a little less,   
but also not a little, 
eat from the belly,   
and to the dump from them a lot of meat and fat.

Cows breed much less,   
but their milk is very valuable: 
"it's butter, cheese, and sour cream.",   
and many other things…

Dogs eat little and only Koreans,   
but they are useful too, 
because-a submissive herd   
under their watchful eye   
eats and breeds as it should.

A peasant, compared to others, 
it breeds neither more nor less,   
but the benefits of it are huge:   
under his watchful eye 
meat grows, Rye ears,   
the owner is very, very proud of him.

Workers also breed well 
and also from them there is not a little benefit: 
they do a lot, build 
                  and produce.

The rich breed quite badly, 
but their benefits are enormous: 
they keep the peasants and workers   
for bread and meat,   
sausages and sour cream,   
machines and appliances, 
under their strict control, the work boils,   
everyone produces everything.

Officials, militias and other uncles   
with big ears, 
like those dogs - their use is implicit, but,   
as you know, 
they make the wheel turn.

However, the question remains open: 
what's the use of the whole bestial system to the master?

Well, they breed, well, they quickly get fat, 
well, some things produce themselves  - 
it all quickly then crumbles to dust and goes away.

What's in all this bedlam 
is there something that the owner needs?

Or maybe he's just a kid that 
loves to play with toys from diapers?

But strangely such a colossus he forgot   
for the sake of admiring how someone 
                it breeds and eats constantly.

What's the point of him watching,   
how dogs bite and bark, 
how they bite their cows by the hooves…

Or how to force workers   
palaces can be built from huge blocks… 

"Who the hell knows what all this is for?"  - 
the artist thought,   
that he drank tea in the poet's House, 
and their friend is a scientist, pouring wine, 
noticed:  "come on, isn't that enough for you?"

The whiteness of porcelain through the eyes of the dead 
looks a lot different than alive.

The dead man doesn't care about conventions;   
forgotten values,   
he is much freer  -   
he had thrown the chains from his neck. 
                                                *

Like school days,   
washing your pants to holes, 
in the grave, the deceased swears obscenities, 
hoping he hadn't been burned.

Roots, hanging down, want to drink eyes; 
reaching greedily for them from somewhere in the ceiling.

The toad chokes with thoughts for paradise in the clouds, 
he wished the wind would scatter his ashes...

I wish I could fly straight to heaven, 
but no, not for him this blue beauty.

Oysters soft crackle delicious sand rustles  - 
soon she would be eaten, but for now let her sleep.

                                                    * 
The dead man died, but breaks it to rot in the grave, 
he is filled with hatred for those who are still alive.

His coffin was nailed shut,   
the teeth were bound with a harsh thread, 
and he still does not calm down and gets out  he is at night.

Officials dissecting on Mercedes, 
like sausages in juicy baguettes, 
their fat thighs shine charmingly  - 
oooh... fry  he-they will be delicious.....

Politicians, stars, bourgeois 
his stomach and heart are very dear.

                                                  * 
And you do not go to the cemetery without candles  - 
a dead man will kiss you  -   
you'll be deader than him.

An orchid grown in a pile of shit,   
seems particularly clean; 
she, Of course, dreamed of leaving,   
but, unfortunately, it did not work out.

There are always a lot of guilty people in this country,   
but there is only one defendant; 
and how would the judge not be expelled,   
the verdict will not be different either.

And there is some justice in this:   
not knowing where they came from, 
we can   
with a clear conscience it is not known where to go… 

Mutual responsibility leads in a circle,   
each to each other-a friend, 
it remains to hope,   
that there will be a couple of good hands for us.

When he drinks, he can't be silent   
and it hurts him a lot; 
many here will say it's all nonsense,   
but I personally trust everything.

And let money be paper,   
let the value in the wine, 
"it doesn't change the general situation; 
our train left,   
and we all stayed here.

Don't look inside yourself  –   
you won't understand anyway what's inside,  - 
my head will spin  –   
fall, bruise your forehead, and die.

And it was drunk in the morning-as in the evening;   
and the strong tea was no longer intoxicating, 
I looked closely at what I saw,   
alas, he did not recognize anyone.

And the thoughts in his head disappeared  -   
she winced., 
and then it swelled from gases and now,   
as if, full even.

He prays for advertising,   
sucking Chupa-Chups, 
there's a background in his pocket,   
and on the table is a beech tree. 

At work he was given a badge of Honor   
number six 
and now he only runs,   
he can't even eat.

He looks in the crooked mirror   
and it seems equal to itself, 
a bell dangles from his nose.   
and a shiny chain.

And he was given a mask with a plastic face.   
without a mouth  - 
she smiles happily   
and always silent…

Balloon after balloon   
I blow bubbles, 
and children run and play,   
breaking them into pieces.

Knees in tatters,   
rough as lanterns; 
rusty Romanian vodka   
and smuggled cucumbers,

Statues huddled together,   
thoughtfully smoking bamboo, 
meditatively smoke to the point   
and pigeons are fed by hand.

Passers-by Drive By and sunbathe   
in the grass 
without a penny in your pocket,   
but full of thoughts in my head.

Under the bustling guitar in the hustle and bustle of the street days 
countless herds of discarded ideas roam.

In the subway, the smell of armpits  –   
steady as a camel, 
through the needle persistently climbing   
up her legs through her nose and into her mouth.

Rotten base rustles palm trees,   
sorting through dry banknotes, 
cutting everyone and everyone with words   
untranslatable lexical gilding.

The artist can't fly  -   
it has no wings, 
the artist cannot live  -   
he has no life, 
but his brush has a canvas,   
on which she draws birds, 
who can fly,   
which can give life.

The artist can foresee 
in the seed-a field and a couple of lovers,   
kissing in the hayloft, 
in politics-the hunger of war,   
in an egg-a bird,   
in the bird-freedom.

Pity flows from the eyes,   
it's already up to the devil, 
soon there will be a glass,  -   
you need to drink it to the bottom.

This city is full of streets,   
forgotten names and faces; 
some naked statues,   
polluted by herds of birds.

Closing your eyes, you feel the stones...,   
walls are made of stone, 
hobbling along,   
diagonally,   
wrapping himself in the shadows.

Time drags slowly   
in search of different truths, 
in the seas of strange concepts,   
in the swamps of liquid ambition.

Someone learns to fight. 
Someone  he wants to get warm. 
Sometimes enough emotions, 
but there is always not enough action.

But you're like that, you don't know why  - 
he sewed a doll for himself and then lived with it, 
and that punish same knew, but scored;   
first they broke you, beat you, and then they forgot you.

From crooked and bent Money Do not ask, 
Who Stole Your everything-better find it.

Laughter danced and danced around,   
spit on everything and leave… 

The jester-Kings danced on the tables.   
without underpants,   
naked ass shone, 
and everyone clapped and was touched,   
because the Kings are due.

And only the old buffoons cried under the new ones,   
tables and asphalt rocking, 
beat the dishes out of frustration  -   
that was their mood. 

His copper forehead is like a bell  … 
Hit him, you'll see for yourself, 
such a ringing, - the Dead will not wake up only,   
and the living will start dancing.

And wrinkles the frost puddles in the apotheosis of the crucifixion; 
God on the cross,   
and we are under it in the mud and cold, brothers, 
vodka turns us into rebels,   
Oh well; 
Oh, Aida, pour some more…   
Let it be hot… 
. 
A dog on roller skates, not understanding the signs,   
at a blue traffic light, like a madwoman,   
running like a sick woman, 
interference on the left does not take it, does not gnaw, 
and here  ZD instructor on the pelvis  -   
oh how disturbing… 

Baranchik slurry truck   
in a clipped form flies, 
as an opposition press   
right-left all watering;

creacinism as the pinnacle of meaning,   
it doesn't mean anything, 
in the ring  Solomon is the truth,   
but it, alas, is tightly hidden…

The lead designer forgot a lot,   
but the main thing is to remember: 
the incentive for the passenger is a small rash on the forehead   
very suitable,

he jumps little and badly,   
alas, it flies, 
but microcredit in half a liter to him,   
oh, how they help...

You'll obey the screwdriver, nut,   
do you hear?   
You will. 
I don't care if you need a special key;   
you will be like everyone else. 

You think the world is for you…   
Don't get your hopes up.   
There is very little remaining space… 
And enough for those who stick together.

There are many main characters crawled through 
Chud further, a little higher   
and the most valuable has already been stolen.   
And most importantly, nothing can be done,

      heroes are much smarter,   
much stronger, 
and, wisely from their heights   
down glances casting, 
they comfort you  -   
life is like that.

And, most importantly, I understand everything, 
    I've seen a lot and read a lot, 
this is the only thing that bothers me about everything,   
that this alignment does not inspire me personally.

I somehow do not care,   
that everything is normal,   
            and rolls according to the usual plan; 
I don't give a damn about a lot of things 

      and every day, without getting tired, 
              I shuffle the cards, changing the layouts,   
so that the script is rewritten as I imagine it.

In this game, the PawN Won  - 
after killing the king and all the officers  -   
she's the boss of this brothel now.

The door creaked earlier,   
now the wind, 
knowing his own worth,   
crawls without oil into the cracks. 

Dipped caterpillars in paint   
and threw a handful on the canvas. 
ordered them to paint a picture  -   
a full-length portrait of himself.

They choked and died in agony.,   
drawing it,   
and a strange projection.   
he lies naked on his face.

Broken porcelain scattered like cockroaches   
on the floor, 
in an unexpected angle served   
to the morning table.

The trend of life is simple:   
the tendency of mountains is to become a plain,   
as an axiom taken from the ceiling,   
proved by newspaper truth, 
sucked out of garbage and lies.

Space curvature to face,   
it successfully disguises   
marriage in mirrors   
and other dubious joy.

Like a dust drop riding on a nail   
trying to find the edge, 
so she lives in peace   
ordinary everyday dramas.

Where two men walk in the door,   
and go out one by one, 
where a couple is already three in masks,   
unknown to anyone. 

And again the owl in the forest cries  from the pain, 
screaming like a madwoman in the palm of her hand;     
the doorway opens into the void   
and all silently sink   
each in its own depth.

The venerable banker,   
like a dog, it jumps, 
he barks importantly,   
Sorry Not To Dance.

E-ge-gay, hilly gay,   
why are you wandering around here? 
Run away quickly,   
while you still can.

Tufts of grass instead of hair   
and skin-moss green, 
in the ground you lie,   
it's like sleeping with nature.

Got the devil in your iron,   
dogs bark viciously 
and even soda and kefir   
problems are not solved.

Cook roasts a rooster,   
and the chicken-the Cook, 
the stubs bounce around the stump,   
and woodpeckers nibble grass.

Where apple trees used to bloom  -   
now only stones, 
woodpeckers devoured all the grass   
and there is no forgiveness for them.

When the "theme"dies,   
it's getting dark, 
the sun freezes,   
the cold comes through the window.

But as soon as - it happens, 
suddenly in the silence a flash of lightning  -   
the New gives birth to light   
and a fresh theme appears   
warm as bread.

In the eyes grow roots in 
eating green trees, 
they have little space in the head,   
they're looking for land.

Babbling thoughts in my head   
become a torrent; 
naked as a child of light,   
the idea turns into the Sun.

We live with you in Make-Believe.   
Maybe we're someone's strange dream; 
maybe in the eyes we are a reflection;   
maybe we're sleeping, not living.

Maybe our  God is a young child,   
he plays a game in the evening, 
where is the main character, mad   
lives in his captivity.

When the sea fills the room   
and the fish swim in the window,           
I immediately dive into the mirror   
and I lay low.

It's time to break the clock,   
free the Cuckoos and sofas; 
chains bound their wings.,   
it's time to take them off and go home.

When the moon is full,   
into the high surf 
I'll go to the seashore   
and I'll be myself again.

Pisces, not understanding what's going on,   
beating against mirrors, 
they ask to let them in,   
but they can't come here now.

My Admiral,   
you are old and you are wise. 
My Admiral,   
you said there was land.

Weeks turn into months,   
and the years are coming to an end, 
losing goals in time,   
turning the struggle into Destiny.

Clinging tightly to his hands,   
hiding the wind rose, 
blind sailors - like butterflies  -   
sails play with the wave.

The ropes are taut with nerves   
and the sails ring in the wind, 
faces smelling of time,   
and hope to reach the end.

Someone is already more fun   
and there are not enough ships, 
gliding on the surface of the water,   
leaving no trace.

A whisper of silence,   
Water Music, 
dull warm days   
replace the rains.

And clothes that smelled of salt,   
and the ropes rattle in the wind, 
the ocean is an endless mirror   
through the Looking Glass plays a game.

And the blind sailors   
groping for the wind rose, 
trembling fingers   
collecting time in the palm of your hand.

The sea plays with silence,   
waves break on the shore of dreams, 
the ships flew into the sky,   
leaving no footprints below…

A chair on a stone chair,   
next to the table on the table; 
the man who lives in the circle,   
in a square almost loop.

The man in the water,   
the man on fire, 
partial man,   
living in yourself, 
with one half almost complete, 
supplemented by arbitrariness 
                and painted blue.

Burning from the inside with a flame,   
watered outside by rain, 
bouncing ball   
around the pole pit.

He lives in his chair,   
but he wants to break… 
Such a life is not sugar,  -   
constantly have to fight with someone…