In Russian

Taste of truth

Like a Siberia

The air of spring

In the begining of

April.

I know

The longitude, infinity

Way.

The weariness all road

Remain here in the eyes.

Prison
Silence
February

The snow 
Horizon
And cold

The fan is

theft

And will be young

Again.



Was a day

The iron air.

Drowsiness of the grass

Breatheing on the wind.

I simple know

I really can't.

So close but

Road is eternal

In almond branchs

Step
Earth
And sky.
And color bitter taste

Day was
Day live
Day begin
Of beginings.
And blood all dews
Dried up
Along ago.



I know, what?
I don't know nothing.
Why lilac
Burning and was on fire.
Why we were steped
On the loam from sand
And solt of water
We were spent in vain.
In vain we were 
Believing
In vain we did't followed
And singing of birds
Don't hearing
In that time.
In that time was paradise
Today...



On the asphalt's covering of the official
Understanding life...



I love dreaming again.
The steps don't destroy the mind.
November
The train
But my things along.
The cold.
Ivening
The town of snow
Laughter.
Weariness
It is don't exist
That's all don't understand.



The ball's tears about two pounds of grapefruit
Or billiard's balls.
Or by coal
Or by ink
And by white snow
The steps is spill
The steps from
And in the emptiness
It is
So many people.


All flowers will be for me from
Steel.
All words lost his own meaning.
The map.The photographs.
The air in this room
The table is colourless
Take a grape's bone of times.
And to be multiply going to be accessory.
The world is existent.
Some thinks...