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SUTURES? (A LITTLE TALK)...

ПОЭТ ЭМО

ПОЭТ ЭМО


SUTURES? (A LITTLE TALK)...

Dry Vodka, Drunk by Galich
(Mihail Scherbakov)

Whazup, trunk of a cord of a stomach?
On a airy Jeep hump in Potomac
I discovered a dithering hammock
And converted it into a cob
Whose web spun into leathering gump bits...
Let there just be a flourish of trumpets
And it's time to prefer drugs to dumb pits,
To exclusion, of cherries, to snub!

And so many of us in the pit of
Foundation, where derelict Bitov
Reinacted professorship... "quit off"
And serene and desist and vulgar,
Be obliged to recede to a suitor,
What alternative vulgar and cuter,
Her, ev'n though she's a daily commuter
From suburbia to Trafalgar!

Where I got is marasmus forgotten...
Senile drivel of years unbegotten
Where a dog smacks of a Baden-Baden
Residence of old Nietzsche in Prague
And I, higher than Moon in a standing
(For which plentiful is understanding)
Am ferociously seiving and banding
(Threat from prose, in a poetry, vague)!

Latent menial work in a order
By patrol, that can't stand its own border
But, when seeing a dog, calls a porter
And forewiens the philosopher Haund...
Intravenous across the garmoshka,
I ain't crossing my hands -- ne "nemnozhko"...
But for me, each physician's Porsche
(And besides, from each Stallion a mound)!

Coincidentally sans incident,
Even dentally, without a predent
Aiming forwardly, scheduling three-days
In advance, to vacate us of sprite...
Bending laple and stroking coefficient
I occur to myself quite proficient
But not nearly as tsar and efficient
As old Galich who went and got bite!




прочтений: 2
раздел: верлибр
дата публикации: Aug 10, 2018

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