The oven’s hot I rashly felt,
A new-born baby could be put
In this so funny place to spell
When fire wasn’t so acute.
I’ll close the door leaving him
To gurgle laughing in the heat
That won’t be pleasant when will teem
By knobs putting an end to tweet.
The creature won’t be laughing then
Its shriek will make my blood run cold.
Though it is muffled but – oh man! –
How loud’s voice of stupid doll.
The cats must scream so odiuous too
And try to smash a pane with leaps
(I’ll heal if one don’t lets me stew
Believing me in spite of trips)
But hair will conglomerate,
The babies don’t have it at all
But have their suet as a trait
Of defecating with a hole
On dishes spoiling all food.
Eye-sockets of a cured fish…
Night before 8/5/2012
Spittle in the fire
© Copyright: Кирилл Галабурда, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113031206109
Свидетельство о публикации №113031206109
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