November. Light, having come on an empty stomach,
He pauses for a soda in the glass jar pharmacy.
Wind is a barrier in all things:
in pipes, in the trees, in a moving person.
Gulls watch fence, something peck Jews;
nekolesny vehicles crawling along the Thames,
like the gray road, winding unnecessarily.
Thomas Moore looks to the right bank with the same
lust, that before, and the Brain.
Dim view of themselves stronger than, than the iron bridge
Prince Albert; and, talk more frequent,
It is the best way to leave Chelsea.
Endless street, making a sharp hook,
runs to the river, ending iron arrow.
Body sprinkles steps on the ground of crumpled trouser,
and trees are, if in the queue for small
sturgeon waves; it's all, for what
Thames capable of fish parts.
Local rain overshadows pipe Agrippa.
Person, able to look at a hundred
years ahead, uzreet browned portico,
who sign "Bar" does not spoil,
vyeryenitsu killed, Ensemble drain flutes,
at the Tate Gallery Bus.
City of London is perfect, especially in the rain. or gesture
not an obstacle for him, no cap or crown.
Only those, who produces umbrellas, there is
in this climate chances capture throne.
gray day, when your back overtake
even a shadow can not and is running out of money,
in the town, Where, no matter how dark brick,
milk will always turn white on the damp step,
can, looking at the newspaper, encounter
Article about the passer, fell under the wheels;
and only found a paragraph about, as the grieving relatives,
relieved to think: it's not about me.
These words I dictated not
love and muse, but lost speed
sound curious, colorless voice;
I answered, lying against the wall.
"How did you live these years?» – “the letter “g” the "th".
"Describe your emotions». - "confuses expensive".
"What do you like most of all in the world?» –
"Rivers and streets - long things of life".
"Recalls the past?» – “I remember, it was winter.
I rode on a sled, I have blown”.
"Are you afraid of death?» – “Not, This is the same darkness;
but, I got used to it, no difference in her chair”.
Air live the life, which we can not
comprehend - lives his pale blue,
windy life, nachynayas over head
and never ending. Looking out the window,
see spiers and pipe, roof, its lead;
it is - the beginning of a large raw world,
where the pavement, that we may nurse,
It represents an end thereof
premature… glimmering dawn, passes mail.
No more what to believe, OPRICH order, what
as long as there is the right bank of the Thames, there is
the left bank of the Thames. This - the good news.
City of London is perfect, there are clocks everywhere.
The heart can only keep up with the Big Ben.
Thames heading towards the sea, swollen, exactly vein,
and tugs to Chelsea tear up the bass.
City of London is perfect. If it is not up, the breadth
it stretches down to the river could not be boundless.
And when it sleep, Rooms old phones
and the traveling life, merging, give tsifir
astronomical suit. And thumb, Rotate
winter moon, becomes colorless squeak
"Busy"; and the sound of many
inevitably times, than the voice of God.