L. AT. Lifshitz
I've always kept saying, that fate - the game.
That why do we fish, times have caviar.
That the Gothic style will win, as a school,
as the ability to hang around, avoiding injection.
I sit by the window. Outside the window, aspen.
I loved the few. But - much.
I thought, that the forest - only a portion of the log.
Why all that virgin, times have knee.
what, tired of the dust raised by the century,
Russian eyes rest on Estonian spire.
I sit by the window. I washed the dishes.
I was happy here, and I will no longer.
I wrote, that light bulb - sex horror.
What is love, as an act, devoid of the verb.
I did not know Euclid, what, East cone,
thing becomes not zero, but Kronos.
I sit by the window. I remember youth.
I smile sometimes, sometimes otplyunus.
I said, that destroys kidney sheet.
And that seed, fallen down in bad soil,
does not escape; that meadow to meadow
is an example of masturbation, in Nature this.
I sit by the window, obhvativ slaughtered,
society own ponderous shadows.
My song was deprived of motive,
but it does not sing in chorus. not surprisingly,
that reward me for such statements
his feet nobody puts on his shoulders.
I sit by the window in the dark; how soon,
the sea thunders over the undulating curtain.
Second-class citizen of the era, proudly
I admit, I second-class goods
their best thoughts and days coming
I give them as experience in dealing with suffocation.
I sit in the dark. And it is no worse
in the room, than darkness outside.