1972 year

Viktor Golyshev

The bird is not flies out the window.
damsel, as a beast, protects blouse.
Having slipped on a cherry stone,
I did not fall: friction force
increases with falling speed.
heart skips, like protein, in hvoroste
ribs. And the throat singing of age.
This - already aging.

Aging! Hi, my aging!
Blood slow struenie.
Once the structure is slim legs
tormented vision. I advance
area of ​​the sensations fifth,
shoes skid, saves wool.
Any, who goes by with a shovel,
now the object of attention.

Right! The body in the passions repent.
In vain they sang, wept, skalilosь.
The oral cavities not give
ancient Greece, at least.
Foul breath and popping joints,
Smudge mirror. It's about the shroud
still is not. But the very,
who will make you, are at the door.

Hi, Mlada and unfamiliar
tribe! humming, like an insect,
time found, finally, only Search
treat the solid back of my neck.
The thought disorder and defeat on the crown.
Just queen - Ivana hangout,
I feel the breath of death crown
fiber and all zhmus to litter.

fear! That something is, that afraid.
Even when all the wheels of the train
A ride with a roar from the waist down,
It never stops flight of fancy.
Similarly, scattered eyes honors,
without distinguishing glasses from her bra,
the pain is short-sighted, and death is vague,
outlines how Asia.

All, that could lose, lost
clean. But I have reached the rough
everything, which was scheduled to reach.
Even the sound of the cuckoo in the night
little touches - let life slander
or justified them for a long time, but
aging is the regrowth of body
hearing, calculated to silence.

Aging! In the body more death.
I.e, I do not need a life. With copper
forehead disappears radiance local
world. And black spotlight at noon
I fills the eye sockets.
Strength of the muscles in my stolen.
But it is not looking for his crossbar:
ashamed to take up the work of the Lord.

However, business, must be, of cowardice.
In fear. The technical difficulties Act.
This - the impact of future trupnosti:
any decay begins with faith,
minimum of means - the basis of statistics.
So I taught, sitting in the school garden.
Oh, otoydite, my dear friends!
Give to go into the open field!

I was all. That is lived similar
life. With flowers entered the hall.
Drank. Durak paying under kozheyu.
took, that gave. The soul is not zarilas
not on their. Obladal support,
built lever. And I fit the space
sound removed, Blowing in tune hollow.
Something to say behind the curtain?!

Listen, wife, Enemies and Brothers!
All, that I did, I did not for
fame in the era of cinema and radio,
but for the sake of his native speech, literature.
For what is the priesthood-which was spoken
(Well the doctor said: let himself be treated)
bowls deprived in the feast of the Fatherland,
now I am standing in an unfamiliar area.

wind. Damp, dark. And Fans.
Midnight throws the leaves and branches of
roof. We can confidently say:
here and I died days, losing
hair, teeth, Verbs, suffixes,
drawing cap, that helmet Suzdal,
from the ocean wave, so narrowed,
Crunch fish, albeit crude.

Aging! Age of success. Knowledge
truth. its underside. expulsion.
pain. Or against it, nor for it
I dont have anything. whenever
pereborschat - vozoplyu: Ridiculous
restrain feelings. For the time being - wait.
If something in me and warm,
it is not the mind, and the blood just.

The song - not a cry of despair.
This - a consequence of savagery.
This is - more precisely - the first cry of silence,
whose kingdom represents the sum of
sounds, First wet ystorhnutыh,
now hardened into a dead
as if nature, hortanyu solid.
It's for the best. So I think.

Here it is - the, what I spake:
about body turning into bare
thing! Neither grief does not look, Our below January,
but into the void - what it does not brighten.
It's for the best. The feeling of terror
things do not tend to. So puddle
beside things do not show up,
even if the thing to death.

Similarly, Theseus of Minos cave,
coming into the air and skin relegate,
I do not see the horizon - a minus sign
a life lived. island, than his sword,
the blade is, and they cut off
the best part. So wine from sober
clean away, and salt - from unleavened.
I want to cry. But there is nothing to cry.

Beat the drum of your trust
a pair of scissors, in whom the fate of matter
hidden. Only the loss of size and
makes mortal equal to God.
(This judgment is checked
even mean naked couple.)
Bay drum, while holding chopsticks,
with the shadow of their marching pace!

18 December 1972

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