sonnet (First mushrooms grow. Then…)

E. R.

First mushrooms grow. Then
rains. Give God, anyone
under these rains could get wet.

Anyway, more than once
here, matt daze basement
coffeehouse, where purple youths
God knows what is expected of its beauties,
and male choir, taped,
obscene call out the name of the,
which no one has ever
under the arches will not return, - not just
yet, anyway, I will
sit in his corner and without longing
estimate, what will end it all.

1970, Yalta

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Joseph Brodsky
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