Outlines of a fantasy “Poem of Middle”


* * *
During all the narrative voice
I was a student Single, narrator married,
As a traveling hat beach to the mall,
Flashed and flashed,
And by the crackling fireside
fluttering rope
In swum.
And above pryadalo, and ridges boiled up
I was a student Single, narrator married.

And part of the story, I was a student Single,
narrator married; flickering voice,
Like a hat running from the pier eye
He is hiding and forced down into the black holes
Letevshyh communities, staring mad
Hosanna without boundary and foamed, He sang and burned.

As if upholstered with black cloth
cathedral vaults, and only one
Corner fanned mighty dreams
Surging sheets luciferous.

As if the sea, the rapid covenant,
On the death of the Bible frothy light
overthrow, and beaten sheets psalms,
And boiled strings, whales breathe.

The sky wept over the sea, of it
page Expand, where for the sixth
The seal of the seventh seal breaking,
The whole point of His glory, boiling, sulamifi.

And the mole of a certain sea (surf
City in the dark rebel barricade)
I ran the voice, terrible, how bout
Hours on a distant rescue station.

I was a student Single, It was the voice was
When he was all dug up, all eternity, absentminded,
Grinning all over her face, as a rock,
And wet with tears, as a mask Basseinaya,
He thought: “My God!
Where was the wound
this tangle
To catch up with my brother sobs?

Did I
bitterness splendours,
In the end cups
heart glaring, I do not drink?
As without tears,
As without a murmur, silently
burning demolished
murmurings, I tears and bile?
Or my spirit, as a prayer book,
Evil wounds not heard,
By the edge of the nominated
Blackboard Lutherans.
It serves them sorrow desktop,
Directory and the
Life pickled hurt
The body of my poems?”



I loved too. And archipelago
jasmine spray, of brezgu, between the other,
In fields, where even in the dark, quail
glow, both in the throat sore throat,
I punched the night an angel name,
And in the heat of lily of the valley plunged eyes.
As the miser's hand
The trunk hair,
The blond thousands of English guineas.


Earth awakened, how Ganges



Am I not on the same sleeping on the sand,
How about going to bed tired children,
whispered chestnuts, and pounding in his temples,
And I did not know, where do I put them.

He compares aground tranquility hops,
On the sand bar, nahlotavsheysya chalenyy
And Tina nosivshihsya sea weeks…
Often it seemed, no ears,
In a world of such zatish!
Zatish shipwreck,
often it seemed, barmy.

clouds, as the ruins of the Circus,
heat up. Razmozhzheno
On the bottom of the caves deaf.
And champing contentedly well
Scars wave raskvashennoy.

Pastures miles belittled,
You close your eyes;
As calm fruited!
As it poured quiet!

It bends in the fruit ripe Bay,
Tin salt!
waves, like branches. hot autumn.
Shelest nalivshihsya plums.
Tin salt!
Sleepy afternoon chelnye drops.
sleeps heat.
Oh my God! Where do you, neprobudnый,
In this vale
you can sleep?
Square hay,
pigeons, fornication.
Red gypsy horse thief,
inky beard, Palatka
Chokes greedy incensed
flared hay.
Without fever and shipu
hay ploitsya,
Words do not rumor.
Sleepy watching crowd,
As seizes Rye Gorbushka,
Fingers in the salt,
Lush fire he.

writhes hay,
As otryasaet with beards
Crumbs and ashes.
Low stretch Spīķeri.
Vagina and dumbbells.
Dust and chaff.
Clank can not hear
Going past the wagons.
then the field
mouse drags, the wind
From the distillery strike
hot heartburn,
the pavement
Flat stables rot,
paint, oats and mochoyu.
You open your eyes.
Tosch spurge.
Pryschet sand grains lapwing.
Lizard, casually.
Penno luschitsya medley swell
The breasts cartilage.
There are so deep.
So easy to drown.
Splash of this, this splash, splash…
Like lapping rock;
like a saucer
The interior of a rim.
Spikes heat,
Flowing in three streams.
The furnace
Soloneet fire.
To the dead
AND, in the ears of the diver,
The strapping ballast waters
Gruzimyh drones; phrase
Zıbi: music, muza
Will not give. Will not betray. Will not give.
dims, crackling,
fish eggs.

The day was a sharp,
Marburg, heat,
In the evenings, as the bustard feathers,
City were illumined cafe,
and low, Firebird, a fire in the cellar
throwing, flew fate,
Hot jet nickel
Blinding coffee dripped.
A park in the bush eyes though vykoli,
But the park illuminated glass
moon, ledenevshey in a glass,
And beds in bowls silenced.

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Boris Pasternak
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