Semenovka. Translated by Kaspar Kado

In the morning machine guns chatter like magpies. Slaughtered cherry trees welcome the unseen shiner with the stumps of their branches.
spoil tips are bathing in fog.

And a narrow foot of Cleopatra is drowning in camel milk. A vat on the shoulders of Nubians. The pyramids here are just as black.

Nature of weapons is slumber, melting of forms, outcrop of rebars. Rust saturated concrete one centimeter deep. Same alloy is used for bars on the narrow windows of psychiatric facility in Semyonovka.

Then came Russians and tears of the prisoned madmen were mold in blast-polished alumnia. Why would you care about clumsiness of the sun blackening from charcoal?

Gleams on the ruins of soviet buildings – it is a kiss of Separis. Barbarian footprints are now a new mark of classics. Watch our twentieth century becoming the new antiquity.

If only we’d finish with freedom, pain – at first is unbearable, then goes through a body like a knife through butter. Take it with you on a boat down the snowy Nile and enjoy smell of a burning skin under red-hot metal scorching a slave brand.

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#poccupy translated by Kado

civil liberties – the half breeds of a new type

a wallnut wrinkle to the front – stones of compromise and tyrany are tossing in a sieve

the turbine of freedom is branching – to noone on the bough – and they tweet with brother Lucifer

the right is sewed in an abdomen

following the footsteps an American and red flocks of genetic examples –

melting of the pernicious sociality under the sign of crave for other masks but a person and the strike at the equality conveyor!

from now on a throat is equal to a steel possum and a revelry of meanings to a cradle of dawn, a smile that was spilled on a tile floor!

the logic of youth is painted with a colour of fermented fruits

the dark object of desire is shrouded in rags

drags in front of a peeping snooping deity

and a cluck fusses over a dumped snake egg

and mumbles that of-freedom-and-of-life-not-he-only-is-deserving-who-every-day-must-conquer-them-anew

but also for the second last consumpenthusiast!

so comfort yourself with goods! His Bellyness doesn’t suffer from merchandise lust

but will appear the same in continuation of intellectual crutches as the minimum wave on a mirror plane – a counter-attack of the wolf-soldiers three days of

amphethamine marathon – twenty-four hours of all-round defence in sleep

will pave the burrow for the dawning sails to factories

as the gunners of the sun with the spear hand raised and kaffiyeh instead of faces …

on a regular neuron tree

with shanks of harmodius and aristogeiton hieroglyphs of freedoms

among which the first one

is the right not to know

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