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.