Thunderstorms in july
In memory of the holy royal martyrs.
Girls cut. And curls fell on their faces.
Enemy patterns lay down on blond bangs,
Denoting the beginnings of animal boundaries,
In the calendars, closing the squares in black.
Tomorrow God will bring milk to Alyoshenka.
Think about it. Can't speak french.
If you pray, life is easy.
I am a tsar's daughter. Ten pebbles in a blouse.
Dear Jimmy, what living eyes!
Dear Alyoshenka, you look at her,
And not afraid, but in the sky such a thunderstorm!
Stand up, Alyoshenka, that you sit all the time …
Weak ones who know neither glory nor thunderstorms.
The sky of the Urals is the same, in essence, our …
The yacht, the trenches – the fabulous ancient colossus,
All the adventures, try birch porridge …
It seems that life deliberately takes us to a kink,
Russian bullets, a large inhabited island.
Thunderstorms in July – read the ninety psalm!
… Jimmy screamed, punched by sharp weapons.
The cocaine fires up the fires of the blue nights,
Mother peremat, washed up by the dead Block
The whirlwinds of decay, the stages of peasant baskets,
Cork, nettle, country with a bloody side –
Drann, dog, do not howl at the moon – shoot!
Our Gulf of Gala extends nonce far!
… You know, Aleshenka, how I love Russia.
If we leave, we wrap our shoulders with the homeland …
Secret – explicit. Look, not adjacent eyelashes.
Gunpowder will cover the lousy walls of the well.
… After a century – scissors fall down.
Ganina Yama No one will ever be found.
July 15, 2019. Ekaterinburg
Photo: Andrei Chezhin, from the series “Holy royal martyrs”
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