I live outside the time
though called by it its breed,
like hazed words of the rhyme
that no one could read.
I’m used to be amidst
my fantasies unreachable,
with height, and length, and width
that I take for the feasible.
I live outside the world
of parties, in my loneliness,
and it is not my fault
that I get frenzy of Polonez.
Some other guys are mad
of my home independency.
In rage they called my flat
ridiculous and fancy.
All they’re junkies and hobos
picking on every passer-by,
idler pushy hollers,
ready human flesh to sell and buy.
And I float on dreamy cloud
just across the eating joints,
rowing inside the crowd
having got my own point.
20.01.2021г.
Confession
© Copyright: Серж Северодвинский, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121020205484
Свидетельство о публикации №121020205484
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