In the times not to be returned,
I am composing the sail of this ship.
The ship to take me further,
to roll through the waves of dishonest dimlomacy,
to outrun the vessel, crowds of philistines hanging from its deck, lying heavy; pressing down on those along the edges,
to avoid the routine whirlpool,
to hasten hence from the unreliable and depressed.
Few miles away
soggy scrap of paper perished in the foul gullet of belly-pinched reptile.
It had stain of grease in the middle of my ornate flourishes,
for students never buy luxurious paper.
Pohjanlahti not to be accused of what the Gulf of Riga gulps.
the finnish tape
© Copyright: Коэффициент При Икс, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117110911784
Свидетельство о публикации №117110911784
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