Silence Model

Sergey E.

Without a hat, with a ski bag,
Washing your sweat like oil,
Delirium Asherah aside
Under the quiet rustle of poplars.
I'm going, buttoned with a rope,
I sit under the cops on the lawn.
I'm wearing a holey tease.,
And my guide is a retainer.
I sing a poem about bright Paradise,
Pleased with the thought that I live,
And crumbs juicy throw
Forest camscam on the grass.
On burdock stitches are washed,
Far lake vitriol,
Clinging to sticky earrings
Sagging to the ground of birch trees.
And in the bushes of a nearby landmark,
Under the proclamations of booming owls,
I heed, as if for the impoverished,
Bird's voice prayer.