put a ban inside yourself
among the cars rushing
before the faces of sleepy clerks
my faith has come to an end
and tilted in the room closet
the only cloak went at the seams
surely a god sign
brace yourself and accept the fact
that you are deader than a corpse from a coffin
as if in the gobi desert
your body is pecked by local birds
you still dream of faces
which you have never even seen
beautiful view from the window
monotony and triviality
I want something else, to live otherworldly
or not to live at all
and you don't live
spit from the rooftops
into the smoke of crumbling buildings
burning knowledge
in a huge oven in the middle of cities
***
© Copyright: Морис Кирцайн, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121051006354
Свидетельство о публикации №121051006354
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